The Runner and the Swamp Fox

This is a Historical story about part of the Civil War fought in North Central Florida. While the most of the characters are imaginary, many are actual people from that era. These people may have or have not acted or thought in the way I have described their thoughts or actions. The character, Captain J.J.Dickison, CSA. was real and was actually more of a hero than I have described him.

It was already near noon and he was still five or six miles from his home. He paused along the trail, hearing only silence. Pat hoped to get home before the afternoon chill of February caught up with him. It was cloudy to the Nor'west and looked like rain. His horse had pulled up lame that morning and Pat had been forced to leave his mount at a friend's plantation near the settlement of Eureka on the Ocklawaha River.

He figured he could make better time on foot anyway. He was less wary of running with the rash of robberies and killings along this stretch of road. He scanned both sides of the road as he moved silently along. He had left his old Hawken 50 Caliber cap lock rifle with his horse and carried the saddle holsters around his neck. The two Colt 1860 Army Model revolvers in their saddle holsters hung around his neck and rode comfortably on his lower chest. In his hands was a coach gun, a short double-barreled shotgun, loaded with twin loads of 'buck and ball'( A .58 Caliber lead ball over nine OO buckshot.).

He reached back and pulled the small 'possibles bag' around where could wiggle his hand inside and find the little leather pouch containing smoked and dried chopped venison, pecan nuts, cane syrup, and dried blueberries. Patrick worked some of the contents into a small ball. He pulled out the ball, about the size of a fifty eight caliber musket ball, and glanced at it. Good, no ants or maggots and it smelled good. Pat popped it in his mouth and chewed as he ran along.

The road was merely two ruts through the grass. He ran in the grass between the ruts, checking for sign in the sand of each rut. A few deer tracks, coon, and possum tracks were all he saw. He stopped and stood still as he listened. He didn't hear a sound, no bird calls, no squirrels chattering. There were no woodpeckers hammering away, nothing. He didn't like it. He stepped off the trail and moved through the low brush along side the road. The canopy of trees closed over the road in this area and dead leaves obscured the two ruts in the road. He knew that a game trail paralleled the road for a while and then curved off to the west. He would follow it for a while.

He chewed on the dried venison and berries and the flavors flooded his mouth. The cane syrup and spices mixed with the meat-fruit-nut combination removed most of the tartness of the berries and added to the flavor. The few dried red pepper pieces brought a smile to his face.

He stopped and froze in place, listening. Nothing! He started to move forward when he heard the voice. "Come on Bill, less get da fuck outta here before we gets wet. Ain't nobody commin' or dey been heah awreaddy."

"Yeah, dis ol' flint lock fowling piece ain't worth shit if it gets wet. If'n we hurries we kin beat de rain to da shack. Maybe we ketch someun tomorra." Pat's hands slowly raised the shotgun. He eased forward a little.

Someone yelled. "Come on ya guys, we goin' home."

"Yeah, good idea, lets gidoutta here." Pat heard the rustlings of the brush and made out two men pushing their way out into the road. More noise came from a few yards directly in front of him. He heard the low talking from the four men he saw walking down the road.

Pat thought, damn, this was going to slow him down unless he followed the game trail when it curved west. It crossed the road from Orange Springs to Silver Springs in about a mile and a half. It was a better road on higher ground with rough bridges across the three creeks that flowed to the Ocklawaha River to the east. It would add about half an hour to his trip but at least he would not have to ford the three creeks and get his feet wet. He might get soaked through if the rains caught him.

Pat moved quietly along the game trail. It was harder going than the road because the trail was narrow and the height of the cleared branches was low. This was a trail often used by wild cattle and it was a bit better than most game trails primarily used by deer sized animals. He could no longer hear the voices of the men on the road. Suddenly he was at the edge of a large area that had been recently been burned by wildfires.

He looked to his right to see if the men on the road were visible. He saw no signs of them. To the left was an area of cultivated fields that offered little or no cover. Ahead was only a little cover. A few larger trees stood unharmed but all the underbrush was gone. Most of the fires were caused by lightning strikes. The fires would often burn for days before the next storm extinguished them. The trail was still visible and he hurried along it scanning all around as he went. He came to a major drainage ditch along the side of the field of old cotton. He moved quickly down into the ditch. There was no water in the bottom except in small puddles.

He picked up his pace to a ground-eating run. His grandfather was a famous runner. He grinned as he thought of Grandpa Sean, his favorite older man. The old man, almost sixty, and with one artificial leg, could still out run a horse over a good distance. General Sean Patrick Murphy, CSA, Ambassador to the court of England was fighting to win support for the Confederate cause in that country.

Pat wished he was with the old man but his orders from the patriarch of the family were to stay home and fight the Yankees here. Pat's father and mother were in Orange Springs. Now that the Yankees occupied St. Augustine they were helping Granny Molly run the family businesses there and throughout the South and the Caribbean. Molly Murphy was a force to be reckoned with in commerce through out that area. God only knew how many millions she was worth.

He quit daydreaming and froze as a covey of Quail flushed away from him. That was a big mistake. He should have seen them in time to ease up on them so that they would run off rather than flush into the air.

Pat stopped at another clump of weeds along the bank of the ditch. He carefully eased his head up through the weeds. He looked where he expected to see the four robbers on the road. There they were. The men were stopped, looking out across the fields. He guessed one of them had seen the covey frighten into the air. The men spoke together. Then they started walking along the road again.

Pat watched as they passed a clump of brush. They bunched together when they came out from behind the brush. He looked more carefully at the clump of brush. He thought he detected a small movement. Perhaps it was a head turning; that was the impression he got. Moving only his eyes, he looked at the group walking away. Hey, there only three figures in the group now!

He heard the faint thunder of a covey of quail flushing again fifty yards to his left. He heard the yip of a fox from two places and knew a pair of foxes were hunting the field. He watched as the observer behind the bushes stood and hurried after the other men.

Pat stayed in the ditch until he reached the other side of the field. Reaching the end of the drainage ditch he was only a few yards from a farm road beside a windrow of trees. The road he was looking for was on the other side of the windrow. When he reached the road he looked carefully each way before stepping out at a slow run. When his legs limbered and loosened up again he increased the pace to a still easy lope. He stopped and took the straps attached to the bottom of the saddle holsters and passed them under and around his belt to keep them from flopping as he ran. He got another ball of meat and berries from his bag, and put it in his mouth as he scanned the area. Everything seemed fine so he resumed his run.

Now he was thankful for the hours of running his grandfather had insisted he do at his side. He had been taught how to breathe correctly and how to put his mind outside his body and observe things from afar. The running was totally automatic and he could continue for hours if he slowed to a fast walk periodically. His body told him when to walk. His grandfather would only use the walk if the run was longer than ten miles.

Pat was still running easily and was not contemplating a walk when he caught up to a farm wagon loaded with produce. Pat, the farmer, and the farmer's son greeted each other. He walked along side the wagon for a while and got some of the local gossip. The farmer offered him a ride. He declined and said he would just run on in to Orange Springs. The man said, "I know Miss Heidi will be glad to see ya. Things are a little scary for her with your Daddy off with the Ocklawaha Rangers and you off on business."

"Yeah! Not many people will mess with Momma though, she will shoot a thief or someone messing with her as soon as look at him. She always hits what she is shooting at too."

"Yes Sir, Pat, your momma is a beautiful woman with a backbone of solid steel. She is one of a kind, It ain't hard to believe she is a German Countess; she looks the part with that blonde hair. Is it true that your daddy found her starving in the woods where she had lived for months eating raw critters she caught?"

"It sure is, they were only in their teens but momma says she knew the moment she saw Daddy that she would marry him. Hell, they were both still in their teens when they got married. Listen David, it was nice talkin' with you but I need to get going. See you later."

The farmer looked at his son, "That family has the runnin'est men I ever heerd of, Grandpa, daddy, and son all run like deer. They watched as the man ahead of them disappeared around a slight bend in the road about a mile ahead.

Pat reached up with his free hand and tried to ease the chaffing of the saddle holsters; he would have to get a belt holster and spare cylinder pouch and eliminate one revolver. Especially if he was doing any running. He still liked the extra firepower of the two pistols in a saddle holster on horse back.

The twelve-gauge coach gun had been a family favorite for several generations now. The load of a 58 caliber ball and eight or nine 'double aught' buck shot was very effective at close range. At ten yards or more it was luck if you hit someone. At twenty feet that load would cut a man in half. He had never fired it at a man but he had shot a charging wild bull at close range. It stopped the 'yellerhammer' in his tracks. Pat grinned as he recalled his mother's expression when the angry bull slid to a stop at their feet. She had calmly looked at him and asked, "That is an Andalusian steer is it not?"

"Yes Ma'am, it is a descendant of the cattle the Spaniards set free when they arrived in Florida almost three hundred years ago."

She smiled gently at him and said, "Thank you Pat, that was an excellent shot. You waited very calmly until he was within effective range before you shot him. You remind me of the day your Daddy walked out in front of a group of charging black Seminole Indians with only a small pistol. He stood as calmly as if he was on the practice range, and killed six of the Indians. That was with an arrow in his shoulder. God, I was proud of him. He was only sixteen years old but he became a man that day." A tear ran down her cheek, then she looked at him and smiled, "I am still proud of your father and of you too son. You are both brave men."

"I didn't have time to think about it Mother, I guess being cool in a tough spot runs in the family."
"There is absolutely no doubt about that, Son, the Murphys and the Von Schmitts are very brave people. That makes you very, very brave. She laughed, "That means you are also very stubborn and always want to have everything your way."

Pat saw the road to the family plantation and cut off the road on to an almost invisible trail. He slowed to a quiet jog as he neared the house. He stopped and observed the house from a clump of Saw Palmettos. The clump of brush was thick and dangerous if you didn't watch your step. The fronds had a saw blade edge that could cut through skin with ease and the base of the fronds had stiff needle like spines three to four inches long that were hazardous to anything they touched.

Having been born and raised on the plantation, Pat knew every square inch of it, including the palmetto patch. He had personally cleared the path into the heart of the grove where the small clump of Cabbage Palms grew. The palms were much taller than the palmettos and you could stand hidden from view in the palms and observe the plantation house.

There was a group of strange horses at the front hitch rail. He saw several men sitting on the front porch in the shade. He extracted his small telescope from his little 'possibles bag' and carefully focused on the group of men sitting on the porch. The men wore nondescript clothing. All wore wide brimmed hats. He didn't know any of them.

Pat went carefully back out of the palmettos and slipped through the woods to where he could see the back of the house. He froze as he saw a man on the porch of the upper floor of the house. Damn, he had almost missed seeing him. The man was sitting in a chair leaning back against the wall. The man appeared to be asleep. His hat was pulled so low Pat couldn't see his eyes.

Damn! The lookout on the upper porch could see anyone trying to cross the lawn stretching two hundred yards behind the house to the horse pasture. He could see a number of horses there. If he tried to get near the horses they would spook or run to him if they caught his scent.

Damn, he needed to get to the house to find out what was going on. He could see that the man watching the back was not moving much if at all. Pat walked out in the open and lookout made no move. Pat walked at a normal pace to the house, when he was half way there he could no longer see the man on the upper porch. He walked alongside the porch to the back of the house and climbed up on the porch and over the railing. He peeked in the window to the kitchen and saw no one there. Pat slipped silently through the door.

He listened carefully at the door to the Dining Room and heard nothing. His right hand slipped a Colt revolver from the saddle holster around his neck. He quickly checked the loads. All the percussion caps were in place and the lard protecting the front of the loads was undisturbed. He heard voices when he listened and was sure they came from the front parlor.

He carefully pushed the door silently open just a hair. His body relaxed as he recognized a man sitting in the parlor. He grinned and gently pushed the door open and walked through the dinning room and stood at the door to the parlor, "Good afternoon Mother, and good day to you Captain Dickison. How are both of you today?"

His mother stood gracefully and walked to him with her arms open, "Pat, welcome home son! We have been wondering where you were. The Captain has been expecting you."

"I should have been here earlier but my horse pulled up lame and I came on from Eureka on foot. I have a message for you Captain. Palatka has been occupied by Federal troops. The 48th New York Infantry under a Colonel Barton with 500 men were dropped off by a large propeller driven transport last night. You are to join with Lt. Colonel Harris of the 4th Georgia Cavalry Regiment who should be headed for the Sweetwater Branch west of Palatka now, with 150 men."

Dickison was a tall thin man with a craggy, weathered face. He wore a faded gray uniform tunic, a worn and sweat stained black hat and long gauntlets lay beside him on the couch. His sword and pistol were attached to his belt. His steely eyes watched Pat, "Lieutenant Murphy, it is good to see you again. Is the courier on his way back to Palatka?"

"Yes, Sir! He left immediately after he passed the orders to me. I was about ready to leave when he showed up. He was a day and a half later than I was told to expect."

"Lieutenant, I can use another officer, if you have no further assignment you will ride with me."

"Sir, can I have ten minutes to change into my uniform and gather up my gear?"

"We will leave in ten minutes, if you are not ready you can catch us we will be moving slowly, we have only about 12 miles to go this afternoon." The older man turned to Pat's mother, "Heidi, I will not get a chance to get home this time again, please tell my Mary that I love her and will see her when I can." Pat was half way up the stairs to his room. When he entered his rooms, he was not surprised to see his uniform on his bed with his saddle bags and bed roll.

Pat kissed his mother and ran out the door to find a horse saddled and waiting for him. One of the stable hands said, "You gonna catch dem pretty quick Mista Pat deys only a hunnert yards up da road."

Pat slapped the grinning man's hand as he kicked his mount in the ribs. He had no trouble catching up. His horse was fresh and eager to go. He rode up alongside the Captain and saluted. "Any particular orders for me Sir?"

"Yes Lieutenant, Scout out ahead of us, you know this road better than any of us. I expect no trouble but you can't trust the Yanks to do what you expect them to do."

Pat grinned and trotted ahead of the detachment of the 2nd Florida Cavalry, Company H. At dusk he was about to turn back and try to find his unit. As he turned he saw a horse beside the road ahead of him and turned back and rode towards it. As he neared the horse he saw someone hiding behind the horse. Unless he was very mistaken he was sure the person was a female.

"Madam, if you are having difficulty with your mount I would gladly assist you. I assure you that I am an officer in the service of our country and I am a true gentleman. You have nothing to fear from me."

A small red hat with white lace trim showed above the back of the horse. Beneath the hat appeared curl on curl of yellow hair and a pair of beautiful bright blue eyes. He saw a small pistol in a lace glove pointed at him. Pat said "Ma'am, it is almost dark and there is no place near we can find shelter. Please put your pistol down for now and I promise I will let you pick it up before I attempt to attack you." His smile was broad and disarming. She smiled back.

"Do have something to make a shelter from?"

"Yes Ma'am, I have two rubberized ground cloths that should shelter us. It may get pretty cold tonight. I suggest we move off the road so we do not encounter any army stragglers from either side moving on the road." He glanced around and saw a clump of trees a ways off of the road. He said, "it looks as if your mount is lame in the near front hoof. May I examine it?" She nodded.

He found a split hoof. He didn't think the horse could support even a tiny rider like the girl who stood in front of him. He asked where she came from. She said Palatka. She said, "I was riding with my father when some shots were fired near us and my horse bolted and ran down the road and through some woods. When I got him stopped I didn't know which way to go. I rode for a while and he started limping." She pointed down the road, "I think Palatka is that way." He smiled gently at her, "No girl. You are almost a mile off of the road to Palatka. Do you live there?"

"No. Not really."

"All right Ma'am, it is time for us to find a place to camp for the night. I know you are not comfortable with that but you really don't have much choice. Let's walk slowly over this way towards those trees. Your horse seems to be able to get along fine now. He is limping some, but not too bad. It was nearly dark when he saw a dilapidated shed or lean-to. The palm frond roof was mostly gone, rotted away. He hurried to a nearby group of small palms and took his small camp ax and cut a dozen fronds off the trees. He quickly covered a small corner of the structure.