Old Josh, in: Cannonballs in the Fields (1862—General Bragg)
Old Josh, in: Cannonballs in the Fields
1862—General Bragg
Anguish on a plantation is often widespread and most always sharp, if not over sensitive to its workers and management alike at times. Seldom is there not an issue, or mysterious problem at hand, a taxing one often and a silly one just as often, be it someone getting sick or planting, harvesting, or making a concern over something less, and Mr. Charles Hightower and is son often faced it, like Charles’ father did, face such issue right on, courageously, with a few groans at the slaves, of which at one time they had fifteen, presently five or six. That is how plantations are made, and run; so Mr. Hightower would have told anyone had they asked him.
“But this problem has got me down,” said Mr. Hightower, “—because how did these cannonballs get into our fields, artillery rounds from one of the Confederate cannons I expect, I don’t want the Confederates to see this, and say we are helping the North, or the North to see it and say we are supplying a route through our fields for them.”
Mr. Hightower was in his dinning room trying to figure out how the cannonballs got there, several of them, Amos and Josh were standing in the roam with him, he didn’t expect a suggestion from either of them but he had been talking aloud to himself about the problem, which occurred three days ago, and everyday since, several more cannonballs were found scattered here and there in the fields.
“What military units are nearby?” asked Amos.
“General Bragg has some soldiers down younger a ways,” said Hightower indignantly. “Perhaps I should go see him, talk to him about his grand notion of bringing his artillery across these fields, and dropping all these cannonballs about. Maybe we can get to the end of this.”
This brought a glitter to Mrs. Hightower’s eyes, in that they were already having with a failed crop, too much rain, and were thinking of a second growth, replanting.
“The worse part of it is,” said Charles to his wife, “he may tell me that my problem is a little problem compared to men dying for the south.”
“Fine,” said his wife, “then what are you waiting for, just get rid of the artillery rounds.”
“I forgot, I had Silas and Jordon put them in the barn,” said Hightower.
“With the war going on, the general may consider my concern insolence,” added Charles to his dialogue with his wife.
“The General and some of those confederate soldiers may recognize my face from town too, it is best Josh, you sleep in the fields tonight and let me know tomorrow who and what is going on, and don’t get drunk, and talk away and give them any ideas to take this plantation away!” demanded Hightower.
“Not me,” said Josh. “I sees this is all we can do,” and so Josh, lifted up his shoulders, turned about ready to depart.
“Wait,” said Mrs. Hightower, looking at Josh’s red blood shot eyes,
“I got an idea.”
“Go on Josh,” said Charles, “I got no time dear to listen to it now,” he told his wife.
“I’m not selling anything Charles,” said his wife, “there are big rats out there, and wild dogs at night, I hear them around two a.m. in the morning usually, it’s haughtier out their than you think without a gun and a big fire going. When I visited your father’s grave back yonder there, I walked back in the dark, and it was but an hour, there, and the sounds of those wild cats, rats and dogs, are quite embittered toward women, and I bet old men (and she looked at Josh).”
When Charles recovered himself to address the issue with the mixed company around him, he simple said with an air of surprise, “So give me the solution?”
She had now brought him into focus, evidently, he now had second thoughts, didn’t look at the danger before; he gave his wife a suspicious look, almost with predatory eyes. “Have Silas go down to where the base camp is and follow the soldiers, tell them we’re still looking for cloths to mend on the plantation, as we did a few months ago. They will assume, they have something Silas wants, not being a spy then.”
A few minutes of silence passed, all waited for Charles to make the decision, then in a slow, limited turn to his wife, his mind seemed to be clear, he said, “Just bring some of Granny Mae’s moonshine along and sell it, that’s even better, make some money, and return when you find out, Josh can do it better, he likes to talk.”
Mrs. Hightower was flabbergasted, “He’s an old man, Charles, like you!”
“Well then by god, let Silas do it, the hell with my idea,” said Charles.
No one spoke for two minutes.
“What do you think Josh?” asked Mrs. Hightower.
Josh walked to the entrance of the door, “Youall figure it out a8nd ef’in you wants me to do it, I do it, ef’in you wants Silas, he do, youall can tell him to do it.”
“Where you going?” demanded Mr. Hightower, trying to catch his breath from arguing with his wife.
“Amos,” said Mr. Hightower, “bring Josh back here.”
Said Josh, opening up the door, and Amos standing still,
“I is dizzy, youall gives me an earache! Imagoin’ home.” And then Josh left the house.
“How bad do you want to know,” asked Mrs. Hightower to her husband?
“I don’t know whose idea this is anymore, I just want to go to bed,” said Hightower, “this strain is hurting my head, youall are driving me nuts,” he gasped.
“What?”
“I can’t help it—everything seems black, I’m going to bed.”
For a moment she thought he was kidding, until Charles got up and went up to his second floor bedroom, leaving his wife where she stood.
As she stood looking at Amos, with this unsolvable problem, she wished it all could be dispensed with altogether by giving it to any slave, but she knew ideas could not be simply pulled out of the inexpensive air, and told Amos, on his way back to the Smiley plantation, where he was going to stay the night, “See if you can spot any unusual activity, on your way, and return tomorrow, who knows maybe the problem will solve itself.”
8-19-2008
1862—General Bragg
Anguish on a plantation is often widespread and most always sharp, if not over sensitive to its workers and management alike at times. Seldom is there not an issue, or mysterious problem at hand, a taxing one often and a silly one just as often, be it someone getting sick or planting, harvesting, or making a concern over something less, and Mr. Charles Hightower and is son often faced it, like Charles’ father did, face such issue right on, courageously, with a few groans at the slaves, of which at one time they had fifteen, presently five or six. That is how plantations are made, and run; so Mr. Hightower would have told anyone had they asked him.
“But this problem has got me down,” said Mr. Hightower, “—because how did these cannonballs get into our fields, artillery rounds from one of the Confederate cannons I expect, I don’t want the Confederates to see this, and say we are helping the North, or the North to see it and say we are supplying a route through our fields for them.”
Mr. Hightower was in his dinning room trying to figure out how the cannonballs got there, several of them, Amos and Josh were standing in the roam with him, he didn’t expect a suggestion from either of them but he had been talking aloud to himself about the problem, which occurred three days ago, and everyday since, several more cannonballs were found scattered here and there in the fields.
“What military units are nearby?” asked Amos.
“General Bragg has some soldiers down younger a ways,” said Hightower indignantly. “Perhaps I should go see him, talk to him about his grand notion of bringing his artillery across these fields, and dropping all these cannonballs about. Maybe we can get to the end of this.”
This brought a glitter to Mrs. Hightower’s eyes, in that they were already having with a failed crop, too much rain, and were thinking of a second growth, replanting.
“The worse part of it is,” said Charles to his wife, “he may tell me that my problem is a little problem compared to men dying for the south.”
“Fine,” said his wife, “then what are you waiting for, just get rid of the artillery rounds.”
“I forgot, I had Silas and Jordon put them in the barn,” said Hightower.
“With the war going on, the general may consider my concern insolence,” added Charles to his dialogue with his wife.
“The General and some of those confederate soldiers may recognize my face from town too, it is best Josh, you sleep in the fields tonight and let me know tomorrow who and what is going on, and don’t get drunk, and talk away and give them any ideas to take this plantation away!” demanded Hightower.
“Not me,” said Josh. “I sees this is all we can do,” and so Josh, lifted up his shoulders, turned about ready to depart.
“Wait,” said Mrs. Hightower, looking at Josh’s red blood shot eyes,
“I got an idea.”
“Go on Josh,” said Charles, “I got no time dear to listen to it now,” he told his wife.
“I’m not selling anything Charles,” said his wife, “there are big rats out there, and wild dogs at night, I hear them around two a.m. in the morning usually, it’s haughtier out their than you think without a gun and a big fire going. When I visited your father’s grave back yonder there, I walked back in the dark, and it was but an hour, there, and the sounds of those wild cats, rats and dogs, are quite embittered toward women, and I bet old men (and she looked at Josh).”
When Charles recovered himself to address the issue with the mixed company around him, he simple said with an air of surprise, “So give me the solution?”
She had now brought him into focus, evidently, he now had second thoughts, didn’t look at the danger before; he gave his wife a suspicious look, almost with predatory eyes. “Have Silas go down to where the base camp is and follow the soldiers, tell them we’re still looking for cloths to mend on the plantation, as we did a few months ago. They will assume, they have something Silas wants, not being a spy then.”
A few minutes of silence passed, all waited for Charles to make the decision, then in a slow, limited turn to his wife, his mind seemed to be clear, he said, “Just bring some of Granny Mae’s moonshine along and sell it, that’s even better, make some money, and return when you find out, Josh can do it better, he likes to talk.”
Mrs. Hightower was flabbergasted, “He’s an old man, Charles, like you!”
“Well then by god, let Silas do it, the hell with my idea,” said Charles.
No one spoke for two minutes.
“What do you think Josh?” asked Mrs. Hightower.
Josh walked to the entrance of the door, “Youall figure it out a8nd ef’in you wants me to do it, I do it, ef’in you wants Silas, he do, youall can tell him to do it.”
“Where you going?” demanded Mr. Hightower, trying to catch his breath from arguing with his wife.
“Amos,” said Mr. Hightower, “bring Josh back here.”
Said Josh, opening up the door, and Amos standing still,
“I is dizzy, youall gives me an earache! Imagoin’ home.” And then Josh left the house.
“How bad do you want to know,” asked Mrs. Hightower to her husband?
“I don’t know whose idea this is anymore, I just want to go to bed,” said Hightower, “this strain is hurting my head, youall are driving me nuts,” he gasped.
“What?”
“I can’t help it—everything seems black, I’m going to bed.”
For a moment she thought he was kidding, until Charles got up and went up to his second floor bedroom, leaving his wife where she stood.
As she stood looking at Amos, with this unsolvable problem, she wished it all could be dispensed with altogether by giving it to any slave, but she knew ideas could not be simply pulled out of the inexpensive air, and told Amos, on his way back to the Smiley plantation, where he was going to stay the night, “See if you can spot any unusual activity, on your way, and return tomorrow, who knows maybe the problem will solve itself.”
8-19-2008
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 10:01 PM
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