Going West

When Solomon Compton was about emerge from the woods he saw a Confederate Army veteran rummaging through his campsite. That campsite consisted of a pup tent, a few belongings, and the remains of a camp fire. This was on the grounds of a small plantation that had been devastated, deserted, and overgrowth with weeds.

The Confederate veteran looked half starved. He wore the tattered civilian clothes Confederates often wore during the last year of the Civil War. He could be identified by his Confederate Army hat, and a belt buckle that had "CSA" on it. He had long blond hair, and a blond beard.

Solomon quietly backed into the woods, and put down a cloth bag he had been carrying. Solomon was a black man who still wore the uniform of a corporal in the Union infantry. He took careful aim with his Henry Rifle. The rifle discharged, knocking the Confederate's muzzle loading rifle off of the tree where it had been leaning.

Solomon cocked his Henry Rifle, and walked out to confront the Confederate. The white man stood up, and said with a stoical expression on his face, "I always thought I would be killed in the War. I never thought I would be killed afterwards."

"No one said anything about killing you," Solomon said. "The way you look I would rather feed you. Didn't you get enough to eat in that army of yours?"

"Don't see how we could," the Confederate replied. "Everything you Yankees couldn't eat you carried off. Didn't leave enough for the rats to eat."

"As you can see over there I shot a turkey. I just found some greens and berries in the woods. When I was in Washington, DC I bought some rice and a few bottles of wine. You don't have to share it with me. I don't like to eat alone."

"Cant' remember when I ate that good. What's the occasion?"

"Well let me put it this way, Johnny Reb. I served in Mr. Lincoln's Army for two years. You're the first man to call me a Yankee."

The stoical look that expected death on the Confederate's face melted to a smile. Solomon tossed his rifle to the ground, walked to the Confederate, and shook his hand. "Solomon Compton's the name."

"I'm Luke. Luke Hawkins. Glad to meet you."

An hour later, when the two men were eating by the camp fire Solomon said, "When a war is over a soldier wants to go home. This plantation is the only home I ever had. I was born in those slave quarters over there," he said pointing to the charred ruins of some huts. "When I learned that the Yankees were enlisting Negroes I ran off to join.

Before the War began Miss Julie and Mr. Robert bought a pretty little gal from down South. I wanted to come home and make her my wife. I came back. This is what I found," he said gesturing to the ruined plantation. "I wonder what happened to her."

"With all the soldiers marching through here," Luke said, "You're best off not thinking about that.

"Let me tell you my story. I grew up in a farm in the holler out yonder," Luke said pointing. "I knew my three brothers got killed in the War. I hoped when I came back that I could see my Ma, Pa, and my sister Mary Ann. Well I saw them, all right. When I got back to the farm it was over grown with weeds like this here plantation. When I walked into the log cabin house I was born in I saw three skeletons lying in bed. When they ran out of food they lay down and starved to death."

"That story's even sadder than mine," Solomon said. "Tomorrow we will go to your farm and give your family a Christian burial."

As the sun set Solomon produced a harmonica, and played, "Tenting tonight," as Luke sang.

We're tenting tonight on the old campground,

Give us a song to cheer

Our weary hearts, a song of home

And friends we love so dear.

Many are the hearts that are weary tonight,

Wishing for the war to cease;

Many are the hearts that are looking for the right

To see the dawn of peace.

Tenting tonight, tenting tonight,

Tenting on the old campground.

We've been tenting tonight on the old campground,

Thinking of days gone by,

Of the loved ones at home that gave us the hand,

And the tear that said, "Goodbye!"

We've been fighting today on the old campground,

Many are lying near;

Some are dead and some are dying

Many are in tears.

Many are the hearts that are weary tonight,

Wishing for the war to cease;

Many are the hearts that are looking for the right

To see the dawn of peace.

Dying tonight, dying tonight,

Dying on the old campground.

The next morning they found a shovel in a tool shed and walked to Luke's farm. When they got there Luke dug a grave, and Solomon made three crosses out of branches. When he put the crosses into the ground they reminded him of the crosses at Golgotha. He walked into the cabin, and came out, having wrapped the skeletons in a blanket. This he put into the grave, which Luke filled over with soil.

The two men stood respectfully, looking at the grave. "I ain't never been much on praying." Luke said. "If you have some words to say I sure want to hear them now."

Solomon produced a prayer book and read, "I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.

"I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: and though this body be destroyed, yet shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself and mine eyes shall behold, and not as a stranger.

"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

"Amen."

"Amen," Luke said.

When they were walking back to the plantation Luke said, "I never saw a Negro who could read before."

"Miss Julie taught all of us slaves who wanted to learn. She thought we should be able to read the Bible. It was illegal to teach a slave how to read, but she taught us anyway."

"It sounds like you really loved your white folks."

"Sure, all of us slaves loved Miss Julie and Mr. Roberts."

"Why'd you run off then?'

Solomon patted Luke's shoulder. "I can tell you've never been a slave," he said. " I came back, didn't I? I wanted to marry that girl, raise a few children, spend my life here."

That night after the men had eaten, as the sun set Solomon played "Lorena" on his harmonica, and Luke sang

"Lorena."

Oh, the years creep slowly by, Lorena,

The snow is on the ground again.

The sun's low down the sky, Lorena,

The frost gleams where the flow'rs have been.

But the heart beats on as warmly now,

As when the summer days were nigh.

Oh, the sun can never dip so low

A-down affection's cloudless sky.

A hundred months have passed, Lorena,

Since last I held that hand in mine,

And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena,

Though mine beat faster far than thine.

A hundred months, 'twas flowery May,

When up the hilly slope we climbed,

To watch the dying of the day,

And hear the distant church bells chime.

We loved each other then, Lorena,

Far more than we ever dared to tell;

And what we might have been, Lorena,

Had but our loving prospered well --

But then, 'tis past, the years are gone,

I'll not call up their shadowy forms;

I'll say to them, "Lost years, sleep on!

Sleep on! nor heed life's pelting storms."

The story of that past, Lorena,

Alas! I care not to repeat,

The hopes that could not last, Lorena,

They lived, but only lived to cheat.

I would not cause e'en one regret

To rankle in your bosom now;

For "if we try we may forget,"

Were words of thine long years ago.

Yes, these were words of thine, Lorena,

They burn within my memory yet;

They touched some tender chords, Lorena,

Which thrill and tremble with regret.

'Twas not thy woman's heart that spoke;

Thy heart was always true to me:

A duty, stern and pressing, broke

The tie which linked my soul with thee.

It matters little now, Lorena,

The past is in the eternal past;

Our heads will soon lie low, Lorena,

Life's tide is ebbing out so fast.

There is a Future! O, thank God!

Of life this is so small a part!

'Tis dust to dust beneath the sod;

But there, up there, 'tis heart to heart.

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I know the rest of the story, but I have not written it yet. I wrote a plot outline here:

https://forum.literotica.com/threads/a-black-union-veteran-of-the-civil-war-and-a-bigoted-sheriff-protect-a-western-town-from-a-band-of-outlaws.1581875/#post-96857377

Should I continue the story? The story is non erotic. There is no sex, no nudity, and no obscene words. If the story was made into a movie it would be rated PG 13 for violence.