For several months, William Henry had
been gathering barrels and storing them in the barn loft. The sporadic news he had been hearing was
not good. The war would soon creep into
the everyday lives of those who lived in the western Virginia mountains. White people in the surrounding towns were
talking. Of course most the them paid
little attention to this young black man as he drove the mule powered wagon from place to place….on farm business.
He had his signed pass in his pocket….a pass that authorized him to do certain
for Meriweather L and under that pass…William
Henry could travel safely over much of the nearby area as he had been doing
since his early teenage years.
As he traveled the countryside, he
played the game well…always acting subservient…his blue gray eyes hidden behind
the floppy hat he always wore…eyes (and ears) that missed very little of what
was going on around him. From time to time, he would carry a note…complete with
a signature that supposedly belonged to
Meriweather,,,asking to be sold an oak barrel. That barrel would ride home
securely in the wagon with no white person aware that William Henry had written
the note and counted out just enough money to pay the bill….,and placed the
money in the money box under his seat.
Any curious person in the community
would assume that whiskey was being made on top of Little River Mountain
and there was…just enough to justify a few barrels. What the curious would not
know is that William Henry had purchased
more than a few barrels and more importantly…he had a plan, a plan that he prayed would be successful. The survival of his young family and everyone else
living on the farm atop Little River Mountain depended on his plan’s success.
It was early May 1964 and rumors were
rampant throughout Floyd County. Two bloody battles had been fought nearby…on
Cove Mountain, two counties away, and on Cloyd’s Mountain just barely across
the border of the next county. Both battles had been decisive Union victories
and the Confederate forces had scattered looking for safe haven and a place to
regroup. Many of those straggling soldiers had begun to raid farms and take
whatever they wanted….food, valuables, livestock, anything that could be
carried…eaten…or drunk. Having heard those rumors, William Henry had made a
plan and taken action. The majority of the livestock were safely hidden deep in
a cave on the Quaker lady’s side of the mountain. His two oldest boys, eleven
year old Lewis and nine year old Stan, had been given the responsibility of
caring for the animals and had been warned to keep themselves well hidden.
Since the cave was high on the mountain in a heavily wooded and secluded area,
it was unlikely any person unfamiliar with the mountain would find either the
stock or the boys.
The livestock should be secure from scavengers and now
it was time to secure everything else of value on the farm. Those items of value would be carefully
packed in the barrels…cooking utensils, good tools, dishes, warm blankets, warm
clothes, any usable money, hunting weapons…whatever would appeal to a renegade soldier or that would be useful
to a retreating army fighting for the enslavement of every black person hidden
on the farm. While the barrels were
being packed, the men on the farm were digging a huge pit in the garden plot.
Rocks were thrown in the bottom of the pit to cushion the barrels and promote
drainage . Fence slats were thrown across the rocks and the sealed barrels were
carefully placed in the pit. When all of the barrels had been carefully placed,
more slats were crisscrossed across the top…..followed by enough bound sheaves
of hay to fill in the gaps between the slats. Finally the dirt was shoveled
back into the pit. The last layer of dirt was mixed with composted manure and
mounded into raised garden beds.
Next sprouted onion sets were pulled
from the farm’s root cellar. By shaded lantern light, the men planted the
onions in neat rows. The women followed with
watering can to make sure the plants would not wilt in the sunlight of
the day. Next to the onion plants, thinned seedlings from the lettuce bed were
carefully planted and watered. Following the lettuce, pea plants were added to
an additional bed and carefully watered and mulched with dried straw. At last
the camouflage was completed. The men were sent off to bed with instructions to
wear their most raggedy clothes for the next few days. The onion patch was
planted and the valuables were safely hidden.
A few afternoons later, straggling
Confederate soldiers stumbled out of the lower woods. They were confronted by a
bearded Meriweather L. sitting on his back porch with a shotgun
across his knees. The adult black folk, dressed in rags and shoeless feet were
working in the big garden plot. The children were carrying buckets of water
from the well first to the working adults and then to pour on the straw mulched
plants and seedlings. The working adults kept their heads bowed and paid no
attention to the stragglers.
“Howdy boys!” Meriweather spoke to the
soldiers. “Can I help you all?” Black folks kept on working. The old man shifted his gun
toward the soldiers, “If you are looking for food…it’s been a bad year….some
fellers came along and took nearly all the stock so I’ve got no meat…all I’ve
had is dried beans…not seasoned too well…got my people working on trying to
grow a little food….but….I can share my beans….Margaret…bring these fellows
some of those beans….they were cooked yesterday and might be a little sour…but
it’s all I have!” The soldier peeked in the stripped bare house…saw an elderly
woman seated by a cold fireplace…smelled the sour beans….thanked Meriweather as
he pointed out the path down the mountain. The shotgun’s barrel followed the
straggling soldiers. Black folks kept on working and did not look up until the
sound of the whippoorwill was heard from down
the mountain. William Henry raised his head and answered the
whippoorwill call. Soon two boys and a
rag tail dog came out of the woods.
“Those soldiers are gone…sent them
down the rocky way…down the cliff.” Meriweather chuckled softly…and handed the
gun to Margaret. "Feed those sour beans to the pigs!” he
instructed the boys, and then to William Henry…”You reckon that pig you got
buried in the fire pit in the lard rendering kettle is done yet? I’m
hungry…lets eat.”
The top of the mountain grew quiet as
the sun set.
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