My Uncivil War

June 19, 1865, Galveston, Texas

Coarse rope abraded my neck like a saw through rotten timber. Flies batted against the burlap hood that obscured my sight from the gathering crowd surrounding the gallows. I thought a butcher shop must be nearby from the stench of decayed and rotting flesh until I realized it was my own. For three days, during the trial, I had been beaten senseless with my fate a foregone conclusion. I regretted nothing and awaited the tug-of-war between gravity and the rope. This was my only hope of mercy from this inhumane world.

***

Spring, 1858, Danbury, Texas, Twenty Miles northwest of Galveston.

I finished slopping the hog and mucking the horse stalls as the Texas sun broke over the horizon. My father's horse ranch, though small, was respected for its honesty and guarantees of health. My plan was to follow in his footsteps with a few modifications. Instead of training and brokering other ranchers' green livestock, I wanted to breed. The only way to increase the meager income the ranch produced was to cut out the middlemen. My father's expert eye had yielded a successful enterprise but too many times he had been taken advantage of and sold some horses at breakeven or at a loss. I headed for the kitchen before I set off on my planned visit to the Jones farm. The new love of my life was waiting for me there.

Earthy remnants of the stable and pigsty in my nose were pushed out by the fragrance of hot biscuits my mother pulled from the wood-burning oven. Cramming a butter-slathered biscuit in my mouth I chugged a cup of cool milk from the cellar.

"What's the hurry, son?" my mother said, "You want to get colic?"

"Horses and babies get colic Mother," I said as my father entered the kitchen and strode to the coffee pot simmering on the stovetop.

"Morning," he grumbled. "You did a good job on the upper fence yesterday J.S. 'preciate it. Today, I need you up at the Braddock Plantation. The mortgage payment is due soon, and we are a bit short."

Jamming the last morsel in my mouth I sputtered.

"You let me out to Braddock's to cut sugar cane? Mr. Jones sent a message that Ballentine foaled yesterday, and I want to see the horse he pledged to me in lieu of my labors last year."

"What are you going to do with the horse? Sell it?"

"No, I'm going to break and train him for The Strand Race in Galveston in three years."

"A horse must produce on this farm. Breeding and racing are for others with the financial means. We train horses and sell them within six months to keep low overhead. How are you going to feed him for three years?"

"I'm eighteen now and will work on the side to feed him. It won't cost you a penny," I said as I stomped out the door and headed for the Braddock Plantation.

***

The Braddock Plantation was the largest sugar cane farm in the south. White Georgian columns radiated the elegance of the main house. I'd heard it’s chandelier was the size of a horse buggy. They say you can see yourself on polished oak floors. The manicured lawn and gardens were off limits to one of my lowly position and I trudged around it, down a side road, to find the foreman.

Hours later my hands bled from the cane cuts as sweat soaked my shirt. With difficulty, I kept up my cane row with the slaves who were quicker than me. The foreman's whip was the difference in motivation. At two pm a break was called, and I napped under a mossy oak by the river dreaming of the glory of the Galveston Strand Race. Footsteps startled me and I opened my eyes. A young black slave rushed towards me with a machete in his hand. To slow to escape in time the blade arced through the air, and I thought I would die. My eyes followed the blade as it thumped into the dirt beside me after beheading a coiled Water Moccasin. I scuttled away on my butt as my heart thumped in panic. The slave knelt by the snake and turned to me and grinned.

"That's a biggun. That much poison would have killed you for sure," as he picked the snake up by its tail, turned, and walked away.

"What's your name?" I said.

He stopped. "Moses. Moses Braddock. We are all Braddock's."

"Thank you, Moses. I owe you. My name is J.S."

"You owe me nothing. Adding this meat to our pot tonight is enough."

***

April 13, 1861, The Strand, Galveston, Texas

Jubilant music from the brass quartet trumpeted from the gazebo in Galveston Square on The Strand, the five-block-long center of commerce. Galveston, Texas was a thirty-two-mile-long Island fifty miles southeast of Houston. In time the city would be called the Wall Street of the South and the largest import-export port West of the Mississippi River. Throngs gathered for the Spring Fair and its highlight, The Strand Race.

Under the shade of a Live Oak tree, I brushed three-year-old Lightning's roan coat and gently spoke to calm him. Three years of hard training, working odd jobs off the farm to feed him, had brought us this chance to shine. Lightning was faster than any horse I had ever ridden. If he were to win against the professional stables of the plantation owners his stud value alone would transform our ranch from brokering to breeding. The one thousand dollars in gold coins would pay off the mortgage and build a new barn.

A stocky blonde-haired man, in fine European attire, approached Lightning and me with an air of privilege that felt like an approaching cold front of a storm. I knew he was Seth Braddock, born the same year as I, on the same earth, but in his self-estimate of arrogance, superior.

"Fine horse you have there. What would it take to buy him?" Seth said.

"He's not for sale."

"Everything's for sale. I will give you three hundred dollars for him if you don't race him today."

"Seth, he's not for sale."

"It's Master Braddock to you," he said and stepped closer, "I will give you five hundred, right now. If I were you, I'd take the money and let the experts run the race. You don't belong here."

"Have a nice day Braddock. See you on the course," I said and turned my back.

The two-lap rectangular racecourse, four miles in length, started west at Galveston Square to race up The Strand to Twenty-fifth Street, four blocks south to Market St, five blocks east to Twentieth St and west on The Strand to the start-finish line at Galveston Square. Twelve Quarter horses lined up and a pistol was fired in the air to begin the race. Little did we know eleven hundred miles away mortar bursts were exploding over Fort Sumter in Charleston, S.C. Two wars began that day, a civil war and what would become my personal and uncivil war.

The crowd cheered with a roar like one voice as clouds of dust and the beating of hooves filled the air. At the end of the first lap, Seth Braddock, and his mount lead by two horse lengths, followed by Oak Plantation, and Sugar Town. I held Lightning to a steady pace in the fourth position. Four miles is a long race.

Lightning and I passed Sugar Town on Market St, then Oak Plantation when we turned onto Twentieth Street. Halfway back to The Strand, we caught up with Seth as his horse faded. We turned into the final stretch side by side. Leaning over Lightning's neck I encouraged him to be the horse I knew him to be while Seth frantically whipped and kicked his. The crowd roared. Lightning and I pulled away and crossed the finish line four lengths ahead for a resounding victory.

***

Three days later, moonlight shimmered off the rippling waters of the bay as I headed home. I had made the last ferry to the mainland. The excitement of the victory, the prize money, and the honors bestowed on Lightning left me humbled. Tears filled my eyes as I lay across his neck saying,

"Thank you, we paid off the farm mortgage and we can build the new barn. You're going to need your rest Lightning because we already have twelve orders for stud service."

In our private celebration, I didn't notice the dark shadows approaching until three riders were upon us and blocked our path.

"I warned you and gave you a fair chance, now you need to learn your place," said Seth and discharged a pistol into the night sky. Startled, Lightning reared up and threw me to the ground. Seth dismounted, slammed a weighted club into my leg, and shouted,

"You will always be white trash," and struck me again. "You think you could ever be one of us?" and shattered my kneecap. "You will know your place," and slapped the bat across my face and I sunk into darkness.

***

Excruciating pain woke me in my parent's bedroom. Dr. Stevens stood with my parents at the foot of the bed.

"We must amputate the leg, or he will die. The femur is fractured in two places and the knee is destroyed," Dr. Stevens said, "He will never ride or walk again anyway."

"No," I said, "NO! If the leg rots and I die, so be it."

My mother rushed to my side, “You’re awake.”

"Son don't be selfish. We want you to live," my father said.

"If you take my leg I will always be a burden. So, No!"

My father kneeled by the bed and asked me, "What do you remember?"

"I don't know what happened. Lightning and I had left the ferry and were headed home," I said.

"All we know is you were found by Seth Braddock and his friends. They were headed home to Braddock Plantation. They brought you here."

My hands quivered uncontrollably as his words agitated me though I could not think why.

"What about Lightning?"

My father put his hand on my arm as his eyes dropped down, "I'm sorry J.S., we found him crippled on the road where you were attacked. We had to put him down."

***

August 10, 1861, Danbury Texas

News of the war had sent business into a frenzy and my father sold every mount with orders for one hundred more. I had been spared gangrene, but I would live as a cripple. My father hired a Freedman, Joseph Stiles, to assist him since I was unable.

I sat on the porch when the newly formed Braddock's Brigade paraded past. Drums beat their cadence, and a band struck up The Yellow Rose of Texas, as the newly elected Captain Seth Braddock led three hundred men in new butternut uniforms to seek their glory. Joseph had stopped working to view the spectacle near me.

"The fools sing of glory while marching into hell," he said and returned to his labor.

Months passed and my leg healed. I could stand, though painful, for a time. With a cane, I could walk straight-legged but I would never mount a horse again. Riding on a buckboard or a buggy was absolute torture. Struggling for a purpose, I whittled toy horses that Mr. Pulaski paid me two bits to put in his general store. Once a week, Joseph would assist me to the creek bridge where I would fish to contribute to the household larder. More importantly, it allowed me to connect with neighbors and travelers for news as they crossed.

***

On a Friday, I had spent the day fishing by the bridge with some success. Shadows grew long as the sun dropped over the tree line. As I waited for Joseph I observed movement in the woods across the creek. Fearing a black bear wanting my catch of the day I sat as still as I could and pulled a pistol from my belt. A few minutes later a black man and woman sprinted across the bridge as the hooves of approaching horses echoed from a distance.

As they ran closer I called out, "Moses, what are you doing here?"

The man stopped, positioned the woman behind him, pulled a long knife, and waved it in front of him.

"Who is it? I don't want no trouble. Just let us pass and there won't be," he said as the thunder of hooves grew louder.

"Moses, it's J.S. we worked side by side in the cane fields. There isn't any time. You've got to hide. Behind the tree yonder is a swallet hole in the ground from an Oak tree downed last year. Git there now, hurry."

A minute later, four horsemen in the butternut uniforms of the Home Guard trotted across the creek and pulled up to the bank beside me. I recognized two of them as sons of the foreman from the Braddock Plantation.

"Hey Crip, you seen any runaways come this way?" the oldest son, sporting the silver eagle of a Captain on his collar, said.

"No," I said. I didn't want anything to do with these men. The Home Guard was made up of corrupt men who had finagled their way out of military service by threat or money. The sooner they moved on the better. Everyone knew the Braddock family needed to demonstrate duty and honor with their sons but would not relinquish their own security.

"The only crossing today was Mr. Jones headed to Danbury," I said.

"Don't forget the penalty for aiding and abetting escapees by act or omission is a felony Crip. I'd hate to see your other leg mangled or your neck," said the Captain as they wheeled their horses onto to the road and galloped away.

An hour passed and the twilight set in. Joseph was late. When the buggy he drove arrived, he explained he had been held up by the Home Guard until his freedom papers and my father satisfied them.

"We have a bigger problem Joseph," I said, "Moses, come out here, it's safe."

Moses and the woman appeared on the edge of the forest.

"Oh Lawd, you going to get us all hung J.S.," Joseph said and turned to Moses. "Brother, what are you doing out here. This is the best plan you've got?"

"We heard there was a new railroad here that would get us to Freeport with passage to Mexico."

"Where did you hear that?"

"A blacksmith from Sugar Town stayed a night at Braddock's and told us. Looking for a man named Stiles. They say he's the conductor. Tell us where to find him and we will be on our way and of no concern to you," Moses said.

"I'm Stiles," Joseph said and looked at me with concern. Turning back to Moses, "Follow the creek here to the next crossing with the collapsed covered bridge and wait. Stay off the road. I have to get Mr. J.S. home and will be there in two hours."

Joseph helped me into the buggy, and we rode in palpable silence until I spoke,

"I can help," I said, "from the bridge I can be your eyes and ears. No one will pay a white cripple any attention."

***

May 30, 1865, Galveston, Texas

I sat by the bridge as I had done for almost four years gleaning the Home Guards movement which was invaluable to the underground railroad. Many suggested I start a newspaper because I became a reliable source of gossip and real news from around the community.

Nightmares of the attack on me became more frequent and vivid. My tormentor shattered my leg repeatedly night after night. Just when he would turn for me to see his face I would awake. I wished I could remember who had ruined my life.

Late in the afternoon, the Home Guard contingent approached the bridge after returning from their daily patrol. A female slave stumbled behind them towed by a rope binding her wrists. A horse from across the bridge met the patrol at its center. I was surprised to see Seth Braddock, one sleeve empty, his arm lost in the defeat of Vicksburg.

"That's my slave," he said as he dismounted and charged toward her with a club taken from his saddle. She doubled over when he punched her in the stomach and shouted, "You will learn your place."

My mind swirled like a tornado as my subconscious connected the present with the past. I retrieved my pistol in a rage and pushed myself up with my cane.

"It was you," I said, "You did this to me."

Seth turned to me, laughed, and said, "You did learn your place, cripple. It's only taken you four years to figure it out?"

"Why? Why did you harm Lightning? He did nothing to you."

"Nothing? You and your horse embarrassed me. I knew destroying him would hurt you as much as the blow to your head. I warned you but you wouldn’t listen."

Seth realized the Home Guard had heard his words of confession, one who was the Sheriff's brother.

"This man was aiding this runaway. Arrest him,” said Seth and pointed at me.

Enraged, I limped closer with my pistol raised.

He ran towards me with the bat raised, "I should have finished you when I had the chance."

Without a thought or regret, I squeezed the trigger. Through the cloud of white smoke, a black and red hole blossomed on Seth's forehead, and he tumbled into the creek, lifeless.

***

June 19, 1865, Galveston, Texas

Coarse rope abraded my neck like a saw through rotten timber. Flies batted against the burlap hood that obscured my sight from the gathering crowd surrounding the gallows. I thought a butcher shop must be nearby from the stench of decayed and rotting flesh until I realized it was my own. For three days, during the trial, I had been beaten senseless with my fate a foregone conclusion. I regretted nothing and awaited the tug-of-war between gravity and the rope. This was my only hope of mercy from this inhumane world.

Horses neighed as a stampede of hooves rapidly approached. The crowd screamed and scattered in chaos. I heard, "The Union Cavalry are here."

A voice with a distinct northern accent said, "What is the meaning of this execution? What has this man done?"

The magistrate said, "I am Judge Braddock. This man, J.S. Wade has been convicted of murder by a jury of his peers for the death of my nephew Seth Braddock. You have no jurisdiction in this matter."

"You have been defeated and as this entire area is under my military rule, I have jurisdiction in all matters," General Gordon Granger said, "Unhood him and remove the hangman's noose."

Piercing light caused me to squint but I could see twenty Union cavalry and a platoon of blue-clad soldiers before me.

"Is there anyone here that can vouch for this man?" General Granger said to the remnants.

"I'm his father. Braddock, the man he killed in self-defense, crippled my son, and maimed his horse," my father said.

"Can anyone corroborate this?"

"I have a private who wishes to speak sir," said a Sergeant.

My eyes gained focus as a black Union soldier stepped forward.

"Out with it Private," said the General, "What is your name?"

"Private Moses Braddock sir. Once a slave on the Braddock Plantation. I can attest that this is a good man. He saved my life and hundreds of others like me," he said, "It was well known on the Plantation that Seth Braddock attacked Mr. Wade in the woods, broke his leg, and maimed his horse."

A black woman stepped from the growing crowd, "Excuse me, Mr. General, I got something to say."

"And who are you?"

"My name is Essie Braddock, and I am now a free woman, thank you. I was born and lived the life of a slave at the Braddock Plantation but ran away. I was on the bridge the day Braddock was killed. He confessed to his crime and was charging Mr. Wade when he shot him. It was self-defense sir. I saw with my own eyes."

"Release this man, arrest the Magistrate, and disperse this crowd. Now!"

***

Epilogue

My father died a year later. Joseph, Moses, and I formed a breeding company that became the largest supplier of horses to the United States Army.

To this day, for many reasons, June Nineteenth is a special day for me as I was freed from the gallows. My release paled in comparison to the freedom realized by the African American men, women, and children who had lived in chattel slavery for generations. Their path would be long and difficult, but it was a starting place. The country was freed, by the shedding of the blood, from the blight that any human thought they could own another. Of this national sin, may we never forget.

I wish the entire country would celebrate this day and realize it is about all of us one way or the other.