The evening drew on and the light in the room became dimmed. Whichever world he was in her troubled stepson did not notice the changing light and Victoria chose to ignore it as she listened intently to the quiet voice, which was lost in time.
“The first month went by within a routine of tedious drudgery, for we learnt that there was an order to our monotonous life in a prison camp. Many things were constant. The fear of the night was constant in the not knowing and the knowing of what it would bring. The fear of a new day was constant, the knowing and the not knowing what it would bring.
“Always there was the stench of raw sewage from the sinks, urine, human sweat, human dead and vomit permeating into our nostrils until our sense of smell eventually became numbed to it.
“All around us was disease and sickness and we, none of us were exempt from its clutches.
“At all times there was an unreal noise, a moaning, muttering and murmuring that grew in its intensity as the day wore on. Sometimes those who had not lost faith with their god sang psalms and hymns and together those who were able sang the battle hymn in contempt to our captors adding to the cacophony of sound. As the camp quieted late into the evening then the pitiful groans and moans of the sick came into their own. Then in the early hours of the morning the cries of the dying merged with the quieted moans and groans and the muted murmurings of the living and just before dawn there would be a virtual hush before the sounds started up again. There was no peace and no let up to the noise.
“With the dawn came movement from awakening prisoners. Journeys to the sinks were made and the monotony of another day would begin.
“The bodies of those who had died during the night were gleaned of their assets before being carried and laid by the large stockade gates ready for the day’s burial party. Not a morning arrived that there weren’t corpses to be cleared. There was no weeping or mourning for the departed it was accepted as a typical day’s happening. At least the dead were relieved of the anguish and suffering that was Carterson and to many the dead were to be envied.
“Then if we were not involved in the roster of the day we would sit and wait as the day unfolded bringing with it various forms of entertainment. We would sit and pick at the lice that infested our bodies. When one was caught we’d crush it between our thumb nails listening hard as it cracked feeling satisfaction that there was one less to scratch at. We were never free of the graybacks.
“The guards who were mainly older men well past their soldiering days were often brutal, sadistically relishing in their cruelty, tormenting and tantalizing of us prisoners. Inmates who might get too close to the deadline were shot out of hand without warning as I’ve already said. I’d often seen a prisoner shot after purposely being nudged or pushed over the deadline by a guard. Frequently I saw guards subjecting a prisoner to a beating for the sheer hell of it. I was sickened by the treatment but I reckon I was more sickened with myself for not intervening or trying to help. It was a useless situation for us for we knew we couldn’t do anything and if we interfered then we’d become a victim. Of course we didn’t dare complain either because we would become targets and besides there was no one to complain to. Jack just told me to keep my head down and try and ignore it. I could keep my head down but trying to ignore it never sat easy with me.
“Not a day went by but there wasn’t a flogging to be watched. Of course this form of entertainment had to be verified by Bentell. He would sign the orders and all prisoners were expected to muster in their units to listen to the charges being read out and witness the punishment. It usually took place after role call. Bentell would stand on his parapet and watch the spectacle. Not all floggings were justified many I believe having been perpetrated by the guards.
“I never stopped being sickened by the sight of a man being whipped. Each stroke went through me. Often the severity of the flogging depended on the expertise of the executioner of the punishment. There were those who treated it as an art in making each stroke a perfection delicately cutting through fresh skin each time able to create a pattern on the poor soul’s back. Then there were those who just lashed out mercilessly flaying the skin from the flesh and cutting down to the bone stroke over stroke. The brutalized prisoner would be left to hang there for the rest of the day only being cut down as dusk fell.
“Well all that I have mentioned were everyday occurrences at Carterson as was eating at the beginning of our stay whereas as by the end eating daily was a rare occurrence. At first we were desperate for food and would clamber for it. More than once I’ve scrambled in the dirt after a morsel, unintentionally dropped by another captive, fighting off others to get at it. Eating went only part way towards satisfying our hunger. No matter how sparse or bad the food was we would eat it. When you’re as hungry as we were you would eat anything and many’s the time it was no better than the slops we feed the pigs. Food that would ordinarily turn your stomach became a delicacy. After a few months our hunger was not quite the same I guess our bellies had shrunk by then having grown accustomed to the meager amounts but we ate because we knew we had to if we were going to survive. I have never turned my nose up at any food since always being glad for what I get. It sure teaches you to be appreciative.
“Eventually our food rations would arrive and we’d hanker around for our share like pigs at the trough. I shared a plate with one of our gang us not yet having enough to go round. At first we’d take our time to pick out the maggots and then shovel the corn meal into our mouths with our grimy fingers before licking them and the plates clean. For those without containers they’d hungrily eat the corn meal out of their cupped hands either spitting out the maggots or not. Later we’d eat the maggots too. If meat was on the menu then we had to wait ’til the fires were lit in the evening to cook our rations. There were some so ravenous they would eat the meat raw but not me I couldn’t take to that, not at the beginning, anyway. The meat was something to look forward to although at times it would be rancid. Until we had the means to cook our meat we had to lay it on stones close enough to the flames and guard over it in case it was stolen. Many was the time I fought over my thin sliver of meat too. Nor was it beyond some of the guards to steal food from some of the prisoners either.
“Being on roster duties helped to break the monotony and in a small way gave us something to look forward to. When on duty we’d make our way over to the large stockade gates and wait taking in the sight of the night’s gory offering of skeletal corpses. When the gates opened we’d enter the holding corral to fit the leg irons. No prisoner was allowed out before the irons were fitted. The length of chain was short and only allowed you a pace of half a stride and shortly your ankles would be chafing and raw but it would be worth it to be out and to be able to see beyond the stockade fence. We were not free but it was the next best thing.
“If we were on firewood duty then the leg irons allowing we’d shuffle along side the mule driven wagons across the desolate landscape, to the distant woodland to forage, strip and denude the trees. We always had to stay within sight otherwise there would be a bullet fired off as a warning and a brutal beating to follow. Even here there was no chance of escape. It would be a day’s work without respite and when the wagon was filled we’d return exhausted ready for food as long as someone had kept our rations for us and then we’d sleep as our ankles raw and often bleeding swelled.
“If we were on water duty then the same as firewood duty we’d shuffle alongside the wagons carrying the large water barrels further up the stream to where it seemed clean. I don’t think we were ever allowed to go far enough up because the water always seemed tainted to me. With the stream being slow moving the filth would back up quite a ways and though it looked clean I reckon it was impure. Of course you could never be sure what went into the stream higher up either. Only a good storm or rain shower could clear it but then the affects would only last a day or two before the water up stream would become tainted again. And often after a bad storm the sewerage would overflow the banks contaminating part of the compound close by and the nearest dugouts too. Anyhow there was no use asking the guards if we might go further up because they would ridicule us. We would scoop out the water, fill the barrels, squat the mosquitoes, which were intent on drinking our blood, and then make our way back to the camp. As I later learned bringing sickness and disease back with us in the guise of clean water.
“Carterson was rife with sickness and disease for there was no escaping it. The food we had was insufficient to ward off illness indeed in many cases it was probably the cause besides the drinking water, which I then suspected. Each of us was real sick sometime during the first month with vomiting and diarrhea, which was the cause of many of the deaths. It would be a recurring illness although I always managed to recover it left me weaker than before and after each bout I could tell I’d shed more weight and as a youth I was pretty lean to begin with and could scarcely afford the loss. As prisoners we could guess the cause of the illnesses but under the conditions we lived were unable to safeguard against them. All the time we suffered some form of belly upset. It was only after the war had ended in the Union army hospital that I learnt the truth behind much of the illness and the main causes of death.
“There was a hospital attached to Carterson outside the stockade, a splattering of tents really, but it didn’t take us long to realize that if you went into the hospital then you never came out again, well not on your own two feet anyway. On burial duty there were always bodies at the edge of the hospital tents discarded for collection. I reckon they were the only ones ever to come out. As did most of the prisoners, we determined never to be taken to hospital if we could help it.
“Burial duty entailed lifting the corpses on to the meat wagon, carrying our shovels as we made our way to the site outside the stockade fence and digging trenches. These trenches were always in progress so after laying the new day’s corpses in a previously dug part and covering them with the earlier dug soil we would dig further along thereby lengthening the trench and throwing the freshly dug soil on to the side. This way the corpses were never left waiting for burial. The bodies would be laid head to toe so they didn’t take up too much space. We always tried to be respectful of the bodies but it was not beyond the guards to delight in throwing one of us in on top of them and laughing as we struggled to climb off them us being hampered by the leg irons.
“Although it was work outside the stockade this was not one of my favorite duties. As the heat progressed through the day the bodies would start to give off a smell all of their own. It was the smell of death, a sickly sweetness and having once smelled it you never forget it. It was a stench most foul. The flies would be buzzing around you all the time. I was always thankful when this duty was over. The memory of the corpses remained with me well into my dreams and beyond.”
Victoria was not surprised for the picture was imprinted on her mind. Only by remaining detached from himself was Heath able to paint the grisly picture his voice at all times remaining expressionless. She felt sure the corpses would be staying with her, well into her dreams and beyond only in hers’ a young Heath would be there digging trenches, manhandling and burying them.
Victoria remembered her own sons at fourteen and the idyllic carefree life they had lived. Jarrod already heavily into law knowing where his ambition was going to take him; Nick happily helping and working for fun alongside his father on the ranch and romanticizing about a war that had not long begun; Eugene, until the murder of his father, flitting about from one activity to another not worrying where his future would take him. And now she could visualize her blond haired stepson, the belated gift from her husband at the same age caught up in a man’s world; his only ambition being to live ’til the next day; having to do backbreaking tasks and repugnant work in leg irons as a means to survive; not knowing if he had a future; not seeing any farther than an inadequate meal he might not get and knowing the reality that war was anything but romantic.
Before this morning she had known he had been in Carterson but she had not considered how he may have been affected by it so good had he been at concealing it. Only now was she realizing how adversely he must have been affected by the experiences he was disclosing. Surely there was no man on this earth let alone a child who would not be affected by such experiences she reflected as she now began to understand what he had lived through. “How could I have been so blind to his angst this day?” she asked herself as she questioned her own reasoning in the way she had self righteously approached the matter when the true identity of Matt Bentell had been made known to her. Even after Heath had tried to explain to her and had left for the auction she had been only sympathetic towards and concerned for the life that Bentell had had and how Carterson had affected him and now reflected on what she had said to her sons about only having to look at his poor wife to see how she had suffered. How was it that she had never looked at her stepson and seen how he had been affected she thought.
She didn’t want to make excuses for herself but she found her thoughts dwelling on Heath and how she remembered him since his arrival hoping somehow she could understand how he had concealed these anguished experiences from her and his brothers and sister. The truth was she knew very little about his past. He never made a big deal about it. She remembered being in the hotel bar with him at her husband’s commemoration after the bother about wearing the boots and trying to get information out of him then about his mother and knew how tightly he could hold on to it.
She had seen it many times how deep he could be. It seemed the more he hurt inside the deeper he was. She acknowledged that getting personal information out of Heath was like getting blood from a stone. But somehow this day was different for the information he was spilling now was so horrific she could not imagine how he had managed to keep it from them. And yet she had to admit he had. He had come to them nine months ago other than being angry, a normal, well balanced and amiable young man. Until this morning came she had not suspected nor seen this coming. With any mention of Carterson he had always been blasé. She looked at the dejected figure sitting on the bed and was only too grateful that he was talking and hoped that by the end she might understand how none of them had ever suspected what he had been through while a prisoner of war.
As Heath talked she marveled that she’d been able to get him to open up. When this was over she felt sure her help would be needed and hoped somehow she could remedy the wrong she had done this day. As her heart stated to palpitate she kept listening ensuring not to cause a distraction.
“It was after one of my returns from a burial duty that Jack informed us of some exciting news. I reckon it was my digging that had brought it to mind. As I ate the rations my buddies had saved for me I listened intently to his news. It appeared that in one of the dugouts a few places up from us a tunnel was being dug. Our dugouts at this part of the camp where cut into a gentle slope which went beyond the stockade wall and apparently some prisoners from another unit had started digging a tunnel many, many months prior.
“Obviously tunnel digging is hard and tedious work and the guys were looking for fresh and trusted helpers from those who might be interested in escaping. Jack had said we would be interested because I reckon he thought it would give us something else to think about and to look forward to, not the digging but the getting out part giving us hope while we waited for the war to end. Jack always had the thought that the war would shortly be over and we would be freed. The tunnel was already fifteen feet long and Jack reckoned we’d be through and way beyond the stockade fence in about six months but the war would be over well before then.
“So it was that we started to dig our way out of Carterson. The tunnel was not noticeable to the guards due to it being covered by a tent and the guards never ventured amongst the dugouts. All concerned with the tunnel were very guarded as to who was told or involved. For the months we spent working on it the guards never found out or if they did then they allowed us to continue.
“The tunnel digging went on throughout the day and night and we each took turn in digging for an hour using a small spoon, a tin cup or a plate for we had no other form of tools. It was slow and hard and laborious and our hands became blistered and raw. The work never troubled me but it was always dark and stuffy and the thoughts of being trapped beneath the earth always haunted me as I toiled. A cave in was not beyond possibilities. The soil we dug out was placed in our pockets and later we emptied this about camp as we walked. Of course there would be a good few of us prisoners emptying our pockets. With the tunnel being dug on a slope it was not troubled when the rains came. The tunnel made steady progress and life and death went on in Carterson.
“We’d been at the camp for about a month and I was on my way to do my share of tunnel digging when I was first accosted by a couple of prison guards. I wasn’t paying too much attention to where I was going and hadn’t seen them coming. They hadn’t really sneaked up on me but I was taken completely by surprise. I’d seen it happen many times to other prisoners and knew what to expect. I was nudged and punched and knocked and was unable to protect myself. Unlike attacks I’d seen on other prisoners, these guards never used the boot. I couldn’t understand why but I was thankful. When I fell to the ground I was roughly hauled up to my feet again showered with more body blows before biting the dirt again. When their fun was finally over I expected to be propelled over the deadline for a bullet to finalize my torment.
“But the deadline never came instead when they realized there was no fight left in me they pulled me up and shoved me forward and told me to keep moving. I stumbled forward any hesitancy on my part being rewarded with a blow to my back from the butt end of a rifle, enough to hurt and cause bruising but thankfully not enough to do too much damage. I was being herded towards the stockade gates for what reason I didn’t know but I was halted before we reached them.
“Fearful I stood and looked at the substantial long wooden building to which I’d been ushered. My gut was twisting as I presumed there could be only one reason I had been brought here. This was the solitary confinement block often used for prisoners awaiting a flogging. I drew on all my power of will to have the strength not to show these guards my horror. I took deep breaths and even allowed myself a sly, if not nervous snicker knowing the prison camp stench would overpower the smell of fear radiating from me for believe me I was scared. But there was no way I would reveal it to them.”
Warning:- In the following part sexual abuse is inferred. Tt is neither explicit nor graphic and no offence is intended.
Heath stopped speaking and again Victoria noted the way he frantically blinked his eye lids as if to clear his eyesight and then rapidly shook his head before this time folding his arms firmly into his stomach and pressing hard as he bent himself in two. “I can’t go in not yet. Need a little more time before I go in.” Heath’s quiet anguished voice stressed to no one in particular.
Victoria heard the beleaguered words and sat and waited and watched and wondered at what would come next. Because she had already decided what she needed to do and because she doubted if she had the strength to listen to any more Victoria was sorely tempted to stop Heath now. But her inner self held her fast and pushed her selfish need to the side telling her she must allow Heath to continue and she must have the courage not to desert him in his time of need. Confidently she had told Heath she was strong and she would be there for him but now as the revelations unfolded she questioned her strength to listen further and, “To think,” she accused herself “I told Heath to show us my husband’s, his father’s guts.” The guilt was starting to trickle from her as bittersweet molasses from a spoon. She was feeling extremely uncomfortable and knew she deserved every bit of it. If she stopped him now it would be her guts that failed not his. She acknowledged to herself that Heath had proved many times over he had guts equal to his father and with every word he spoke his guts spilled out.
Her current thoughts were suddenly interrupted as Heath drew a long guttural breath and sat up again with his gaze piercing the wall opposite showing he was ready to continue. Victoria willed herself to be strong as she surmised the coming revelations.
A couple of times since his acceptance into the family Victoria had seen the deep, ridges chaotically crisscrossing his back for he had never tried to hide them and when he had seen her shocked look he would remind himself to be more mindful of others in future. He acknowledged the presence of the cruel welts with just one word “Carterson.” It was a word that said everything and she nor anyone else ever asked further for which he was grateful because truth be told since leaving the Union hospital and until this morning he couldn’t explain them. They were there, they were a part of him and Carterson was the reason. The only saving grace about the scars being positioned on his back he himself never had to look at them and Victoria accepted the nonchalant way he responded and believed they were of little consequence to him and never queried their existence further. Mrs. Victoria Barkley braced herself ready to hear how he had received the scars, the roughness of which she had clearly felt through his shirt earlier and silently asked the spirit of her dead husband to be with her as Heath started to talk again.
“I neither assisted nor resisted as they hauled and shoved me to a cell. It was about six foot by four and raised off the ground by a timber floor. I was made to strip and my clothes or rags as they were fast becoming were taken away. The door was closed and securely bolted. I listened to the two guards laughing at my expense on their way outside. The cell was in semi darkness. It was lit only by a six-inch square hole high up in the outside wall and a spy hole in the door. Eventually as my eyes became accustomed to the dark I saw a bucket filled with water in the corner nearest the door. I didn’t see anyone but I heard a harsh voice kind of sinister it was telling me to wash. I reasoned that if I was going to be flogged I might as well, as the saying goes be hanged for a steer as a calf, so I took the only opportunity since becoming a prisoner to wash myself. It sure was good. Having completed my wash I sat on the floor and rested my back against the rough timber wall. Trying to keep my mind off what was to come I watched the particles of dust dancing in the six inch shaft of light. Even with the smell and the sound from outside it became almost peaceful and despite my fear I allowed my mind to wander and take me back home, for that is where I wanted to be.
“I don’t know how long I’d been sitting, waiting and fantasizing but I suddenly became aware that I was being watched. I felt as if icy, cold, fingers were stroking my spine. I looked up at the spy hole in the door and saw two eyes staring at me. Yellowish they were. I recognized the eyes. I’d seen them before. Now the feeling of dread took hold of me twisting my gut in earnest as I recalled where I’d seen those eyes. The first time was in Bentell’s headquarters. They’d been leering at me all the time I was being interrogated. The eyes belonged to a large grotesque looking sergeant of the guard. He had been the one meticulous in his quest to manhandle me when I was searched before leaving Bentell’s headquarters. Since that day I had often seen him leering at me. His gaze evident of his desire and lust added to the constant nausea I felt inside. I had told Jack about it and he told me to take care not to look at him and try not to draw attention to myself. From then on I tried to do as Jack told me. It wasn’t easy and many times though I didn’t look I would get the feeling that those eyes were leering at me. I knew their intent.
“Now men have needs and this was a camp filled with men. The men would handle their needs in different ways. Some would be too ill and some would be strong and ignore their needs and have control over themselves. Some would pleasure themselves and some would initiate a relationship with another prisoner and pleasure each other. As long as they didn’t interfere with any of us that was fine. You didn’t have to like what was going on but you could put up with it. However it would seem that some of the guards had needs too and they took advantage of their position. Now it started to dawn on me why some of the prisoners were always clean and why some of them seemed better fed than others. Favors given or taken were often repaid in kind. Favors begat favors.
“I now realized why I was in the cell. To some men a boy is beautiful and I was a boy. This guard had noticed me from the beginning and was determined to have me. He’d waited his moment and pounced. I on the other hand was determined that he wasn’t going to have me no matter what it took.
“It might have been an hour or two that I was left to stew and sweat until eventually the door opened and there he stood his ghastly form silhouetted in the doorway. The glimmer of light from the six-inch square hole distorted and illuminated his lecherous grin. He only had a few teeth and they were rotten and discolored. I stayed seated on the wooden floor keeping my arms wrapped tightly around my legs while he tried to sweet talk me. I didn’t listen to him. I let my thoughts carry me miles away. I felt his breath on me. And even through the stench of the camp I could smell it stale and foul as he leaned in close to me. ‘This isn’t going to happen to me. This wasn’t happening to me.’ I kept telling myself.
“Eventually he lost patience and grabbed out at me and lifted me up from the floor and into him. This is when I went wild. I scratched, gouged, thumped, punched, head butted, pinched, lifted my knees up and kicked out hard with them. I flayed my legs but was frustrated by my feet because they were bootless. I was fast becoming done in as I bucked and twisted and gave him everything I could but I was no match for his superior size and strength. He shook me viciously and then with one well-aimed blow to my jaw I went out like a light.
“When I came round it was dusk. It took me a while to realize where I was and what had happened. My head throbbed. My body and jaw ached. And I was sore. I knew what had happened. I had been used, defiled and violated.
“I sat myself up and scurried backwards into a corner. I find it hard to know how to describe how I felt. I know I felt sick inside, cheap, ashamed, dirty, guilty, soiled and unclean. All these feelings I had and yet I had done nothing wrong. It didn’t matter that I could remember nothing of it. I had been innocent and my innocence had been stolen from me.
“While I was out cold someone had seen fit to throw my clothes and boots into the cell. I had felt them as I scrambled across the floor. Now I felt for them in the dark and feverishly dressed myself. I sat thinking of all the things I wanted to do and yet found myself unable. I wanted to pull my hair out. I wanted to scream and scream. I wanted to bash my brains out against the wall. I wanted to do anything that could take these feelings of being used and unclean away from me. I didn’t cry, not then. I couldn’t shed a tear. Not for that and nor have I since.
“Eventually the door was opened and at gunpoint I was forced out and thrown back in to the prison corral. Fortunately it was dark and but for the lanterns on the perimeter I couldn’t be seen. But in my mind I could feel the accusing eyes of each and every prisoner boring in to me. I made my way to our dugout and climbed in hiding myself under the canvas. My buddies were all there but I was too ashamed to say anything or acknowledge them. I curled myself up and turning my back tried to draw myself away from them. I scratched at the dirt and forced it into my bare skin until it was raw and bleeding hoping to make myself as dirty and grimy as I had been early that morning. By so doing I hoped to cleanse myself.
“I don’t think I slept that night and when the day started and the monotonous prison life began I had to be rallied by my buddies. Being in a place like Carterson it is hard to feel motivated and yet being part of a group we kept each other going. If it hadn’t been for my buddies I’d have given in then for I no longer had any reason to survive. They never once asked nor acknowledged what had happened to me but I reckon they knew. I think they thought it best not to say anything. I was grateful for I had difficulty in looking straight at any of them. I’m not sure whether they were right though. Perhaps I needed to talk about it. I don’t know.
“For the while I stopped feeling hungry and if it hadn’t been for them I reckon I would have stopped eating altogether for life no longer had any meaning. They made sure I collected my rations and made sure I ate. Only once was the incident kind of hinted at and that was by Jack when he told me things would get better and it would never happen again. I asked how he could be so sure and he just told me to believe him.
“Well he was right in the short term because for the next month life more or less went back to normal, well as normal as it could be in that place, except the five of them rarely left me on my own. As time went on I grew surly and sullen and extremely edgy. Frequently I would snap at them for very little reason. I could feel myself pushing them away but could not stop myself. More than once one of them had had to pull me away from another prisoner I was intent on killing. ‘I’ being the optimum word because I usually started the fighting. The conditions were impossible it was so overcrowded, another prisoner only had to touch or knock into me I would go at him. And in that place it was difficult not to touch someone. By the end of the second month I guess I had achieved my objective because once again I found myself being left alone. Although my buddies kept their distance they still stood by me.
“Throughout this period the routine of prison life continued. The same rosters were worked. The tunnel continued to grow day by day, inch by inch. Disease and poor health flourished and we grew weaker. The stench became stronger. The noise never abated. Prisoners continued to be flogged. We fought amongst ourselves for food, clothing or anything that could make living more bearable. Prisoners fighting, myself included became more frequent and sometimes death would be the result. Theft amongst inmates became rife. New prisoners kept arriving replacing and outnumbering the corpses, which were daily laid at the stockade gates. More prisoners meant further cramping of our living space and food rations having to be stretched further and overall life became more and more insufferable.
“The new prisoners would bring with them news of how the war was going but it didn’t help matters for us. As the Union gained power so the camp conditions deteriorated further and faster.”
Victoria took respite to compose herself during a lull as Heath fleshed out the circumstances within the prison camp. She had braced herself to learn of a flogging, which would have been bad enough, but now she sat appalled, disgusted and revolted not knowing how to assimilate what she had heard. She looked across at him, and could see the child he had been ten years earlier, the child who had become the gentle man she knew and had grown to love and tried with all her heart to understand what he had been through. Even with his descriptions and thorough revelations she could not start to imagine what it must have been like for him. “I want to understand but I don’t know whether I can. What you are telling me is unreal and unbelievable and yet I know it is true.” Silently she voiced her own inadequacies. Then feeling her strength returning quietly prayed that when the revelations were completed she could be as strong and brave as him. She knew how wrong and cruel she had been this day and she admonished herself.
“For a time, about a month possibly, I had not been approached,” Although Heath had not stopped in his narrative Victoria readied herself for the rest of the disclosures not knowing what to expect. From what she had heard already she had learned to expect anything for she now believed there was nothing more that could shock her. Her fortitude had been waning but now she felt a resurgence of power and knew she had the strength to hear Heath through to the end.
“But then again after a short while I became aware of the eyes watching me again. As my skin started to crawl I decided I would die in the prison corral rather than let myself be taken again. Anything but be taken again. What I didn’t realize was that Jack, Hank, Paddy, Jed and Wes had seen them too and they had sworn I wouldn’t be taken again either. Although they now gave me space they still watched over me as I found out the day the guards came for me.
“This day I was in the dugout watching over Jed who had been seriously sick for two days with what I’d later learn was dysentery. Jed was out of it, unaware of what was happening when they came for me. Our dugout being on the edge was easily accessible and at gun point I was ordered out. I complied and as I scrambled up the edge I seized the opportunity and grabbed a handful of grit and dirt and threw it at one of the guards. He closed his eyes and clutched them with his freehand. Taking that moment I head butted the other guard in the belly before he knew what was happening and I made a run for it.
“From then everything happened too fast. I felt myself falling towards another dugout after being pushed as Jack and Wes were attacking the two guards. The prisoners in this dugout held on to me and wouldn’t let me out even though I struggled frantically. Helplessly I watched as more guards arrived and Jack and Wes were soon overpowered and dragged off to the solitary confinement cells. Amongst all the ruckus I was forgotten. When it settled down the other prisoners let me go and I reasoned they’d saved me from the same fate as Jack and Wes.
“Another night I spent not sleeping, understanding what Jack and Wes had done for me and knowing what the next day would bring. Jack had said it wouldn’t happen again and he meant me to believe it. I was sorely grateful to both of them but I was also struck with guilt and remorse because but for me neither of them would be awaiting the brutal punishment that was sure to be given. And it would be brutal of that there could be no doubt. Both of them had attacked prison guards, the ultimate crime. All the prisoners would be taught the grave lesson that came with such behavior. An example would be made of Jack and Wes. Our fellow inmates would see what happens to Union prisoners who attack Confederate guards. For this crime there was no tolerance level. I’d never seen guards attacked before and I only hoped that the death penalty would not be given because there was always a possibility. There is only one thing that can be said about not sleeping and that is that it holds back the evil moment from arriving too soon.
“There is no way of stopping it for time relentlessly travels along and as always morning came. This day I didn’t watch the dawn sky and wonder what was in store for I knew. Mid morning the punishments and floggings usually took place directly after role call. Jed was still ill but insisted on being there because Jack and Wes were his friends too and like all of us he needed to show them that he cared. At the same time none of us wanted to witness what was to come.
“Role call was over so we were all mustered in our units which was to be expected when the two prisoners were brought out to the whipping pen. Bentell appeared on his parapet and the punishments were read out and they were severe as I knew they would be. But I thanked God that they would live. I’d seen the floggings so often by now but I had never become numbed to them. Most of the time I closed my eyes because although you were supposed to watch there was no way the guards could make you. But this day I watched because two of my buddies were taking the punishment that should have been mine.
“I didn’t think it was ever going to be over and I was feeling sick again. Brave as they were both bodies went limp before the final stroke was struck. Then the waiting began. Waiting through the heat of the day until dusk when they would be cut down and either taken to the hospital or released to the corral. As the units disbanded I sat on the dry earth where I spent the rest of the day watching and waiting. I couldn’t suffer for them but I could suffer with them. Hank and Paddy returned Jed to the dugout and returned a little before dusk to help Jack and Wes back. For their sakes fortunately this day the weather had been cool to temperate and the flies where at a minimum.
“It was just as the sun started to sink that the guards arrived to cut them down. First throwing the remainder of Jack’s and Wes’s ragged uniforms out to us, the guards went over to the whipping posts. Paddy, Hank and I stood as close as we could ready to assist for we were not allowed over the dead line.
“What happened next may well have been in slow motion for it is sealed so vividly into my mind and comes back to haunt me in nightmares. The picture is so very clear. The hemp on each was cut simultaneously. Wes readied himself, stayed standing and leaned and supported himself against the whipping post as the feeling came back to his arms whereas Jack dropped like a sack of grain to the earth. For what was only a minute but seemed like an eternity we watched and waited helplessly. One guard sank his boot into Jack’s side and when there was no response he bent down and felt over him with his hands. The next thing the guard was calling for assistance and we watched dumbfounded as they each took hold by lifting a leg and proceeded to drag Jack over to the large stockade gates where he was unceremoniously dumped ready for the next days burial party. Not being allowed near, Wes, as we did, watched disbelieving. Mesmerized I stayed looking at his body realizing I hadn’t seen any form of movement from Jack in a long while. Wes forced himself to walk over to us where I’m sure he would have collapsed had not Paddy and Hank taken hold of him.
“Sometime during that day Corporal Jackson Dewhurst had died. Later in the Union hospital I learnt that it was probably heart failure. That he probably had a faulty heart and that any time during his life he could have dropped dead. Knowing later or having known it at the time would not have made me feel any better. It was because of me that Jack had been punished. It was because of me that Jack had died.
“The opportunity for me to thank him for saving me had been denied. I could never tell him I was sorry and I never had the chance to say goodbye. I had frequently witnessed death since becoming a soldier and I had frequently killed and death was always present there at Carterson. Death was not a stranger to me but never before had I felt like this....... I was instrumental in killing my friend and I stood and witnessed his death....... How does one carry that around inside oneself? How do you come to terms with that? How do you live with yourself?” His words came across quietly devoid of expression almost as if someone else was asking but the slight tremors evident hung in the air with the silence.
The questions had been voiced and although he didn’t look to her Victoria felt she was being addressed. “I don’t know.” She wanted to say but she knew he wasn’t asking her because some time many years ago he must have found the answer or he would not have been here now living in the Barkley mansion with his family. A long time ago he had obviously learned to live with it. “But how?” she thought.
Heath didn’t look at her and Victoria again honestly wondered if he knew she was there listening to him. She was very careful not to speak nor to make a sound for fear of startling him. The growing darkness in the room created an eeriness which added to her uneasiness. She felt now as though she was being drawn into one of his nightmares and becoming a part of it. Unhappily she accepted she had been an instigator in this nightmare if this was what it was. She was finally understanding the anguished screams for help, the tormented cries to be left alone and the frantic struggles which she had witnessed during his sleep after he had been shot by Evan Miles. Anytime now she felt he would finish talking and the screaming and cries would start which would ordinarily be the time she or one of his siblings would come in to help him calm.
If he was caught in one of his nightmares then she wondered whether this rendition would do him any good but she didn’t dare stop him because there was no way she could be sure. For the moment she knew for his sake she needed him to continue and she would sit and listen and not for the first time this evening, in her own mind question and wonder how she could have been so callous and unthinking in her intentions this day. If this was not a nightmare for him then it was fast becoming a nightmare for her and the mother inside her wanted only to take hold of him now and kiss him better telling him that everything would be alright. But she did not know whether it would be or if ever it could be. The territory they were both in had not been charted.
It was Heath who brought his stepmother out of her dismal thoughts as he started to speak again his eyes never leaving the opposite wall. The tremors had gone and he spoke with certainty. “I stood there and for a long while looked at his body, disbelieving what had occurred and what the four of us had witnessed. I kept telling myself that it should have been me there. Then, as though I heard voices I knew what I had to do. I knew what Jack would have expected of me. It was as though he was talking to me.” Heath suddenly turned and for the first time with sad doleful eyes full of despair he addressed his question at his stepmother. “I think you know what he would expect too, don’t you?” Abruptly she was shaken as she realized he was fully aware of her presence. And she knew this nightmare was not his. It was now hers.
Victoria wasn’t sure whether she was being deluded but as she looked into his eyes, frantically seeking an answer, amidst the despair in a moment’s flash she saw a tiny glimmer of hope.
Panicking she thought of a reply hoping it was the right one but before she could utter a word Heath spoke. “He had given his life for me, he had died for me and I knew somehow I had to live to make his death meaningful. I had to survive if his death was not to have been in vain. It was a tall order and there was no way of knowing whether I could accomplish it but that evening I vowed that I would strive to justify his dying. I was determined to survive, to live.” And so saying he looked back at the wall and once again let his tormented thoughts of yesteryear feed his narrative. Unfolding his arms he clasped his hands together and trapped them between his knees and now let his tale flow with passion.
“I said my last farewells and returned to the dugout.”
“Five days later Wes died.” Although she was prepared for anything Victoria didn’t expect this and put a hand to her mouth to suppress a gasp knowing now she was going to learn what had become of his other friends. Heath did not falter in his telling feeling a power stronger than his was driving him to reach the end.
“His back was in a bad way although he tried to pretend otherwise. It must have hurt like the very devil but I couldn’t imagine how much. We none of us had the means but we did what we could. Medicine was never available. At that time we knew nothing about germs or infections but we realized the bloody wounds needed cleaning. We used my water ration from one of our cups. It wasn’t much but it seemed to help. It wasn’t ’til the next day that it became evident that he was ill. As Jed’s health improved Wes’s health started rapidly deteriorating. We did what we could which was practically nothing. We felt helpless. We were helpless. In desperation we even considered taking him to the hospital but Wes became aware and begged us not to. He said if he was going to die then he wanted to die with us close by, to be with those he knew, those he cared about and those he knew cared about him. I guess he knew then that he was dying.
“The last time he was lucid he spoke telling me I was not to blame myself for what had happened. He said he and Jack had made the decision and it was their choice no one had forced them and certainly not me. And if they’d had to make the choice again then they would do the same and gladly. He said it for my sake. I know that. It helped but it didn’t make me feel better. I didn’t want to admit it but I knew shortly I would have the death of both my buddies and comrades in arms on my conscience.
“It took two more days before he died in agony. In that hell hole many times I’d heard the screams of the dying but never had I witnessed it so close. There was no calming him until the quiet before dawn. Now the poison that was in his blood seemed to ease it’s hold on him and the death rattle began. I held him, I wanted to, I needed to. He breathed his last there in my arms just as the light of the new day brightened the sky. Now I understood why it went almost quiet at this time. The screams of the dying ceased. It was when most died. As the sun rose for the living I knew Wesley Gardner had seen his final sunset. There in Carterson it was death’s time.
“Paddy and Hank carried his body to the gates and later managed to get on the burial party to ensure he was respectfully laid to rest.
“From that day on I never again saw that sergeant of the guard nor was I ever bothered by the guards again. I don’t know what became of him. The thoughts of him stayed with me and it left me uneasy and fearful always being edgy, tense and moody thereafter. I don’t want to think of him now or ever again.
“Through his need and because of me two of our gang were dead. There were four of us now and although Jed was better he never fully recovered. As with all of us dysentery was a recurring sickness, which left each of us after every bout weaker than before but seemed to affect Jed the most. We continued to exist in the filth and the squalor of our own making not being helped by how we were managed or kept. I have known animals better kept than we were. We weren’t dim enough not to realize that our living conditions inflamed the sickness in the camp. But we didn’t understand how and had we known there was nothing we could have done anyway.” Heath gave a shrug of his shoulders denoting the uselessness of the situation. Victoria understood and thought he was becoming more animated in his telling.
“Time went by and we existed best we could. We existed, not lived from now on. No one could call what we did living. Existed with the spirits of Jack and Wes close by us. Knowing the end of the war could not be far off. We had hope and while we had hope we had a future and we fought to survive. I would fight tooth and nail for what was mine and for what I thought could be mine. The rags off a dead inmate or blankets, which were left unguarded. Some did, but I never stole from those in more need than myself. I could never have lived with myself had I.
“The tunnel digging went on and it was almost under the stockade wall by January shortly before Jed died. He took bad again with dysentery but died unexpectedly during a bitter, cold night. We’d all huddled together beneath our canvas to try to keep warm. I thought I could never be more cold than I was then but somehow I’d managed to sleep. We woke in the morning as the new day started only to find that Jed had passed away during the night. I think in his weakened condition with dysentery the exposure had taken care of his suffering.
“There were more deaths than normal that night obviously caused by severe cold and exposure. As they had done for Wes, Paddy and Hank carried his body to the stockade gates but this time I took on burial duty to ensure Jethro Mullens too was buried with dignity, as much as could be and to say a few words for him.
“From now on as time went by our existence became intolerably worse.
“From January to April we three managed to survive. Mid March to April seemed to bring a change and not only in the weather. Paddy who always seemed to rise above everything stopped telling his stories, gone was any fun that still lingered in him and he appeared to believe that we would never get out of the camp. Hank became more and more morose, the way we were living, what we needed to do to survive had been slowly eating away at him and with him being honorable and trustworthy the guilt he carried was getting too much for him. I kept myself going because I had made a promise to a departed friend that fateful day and I was now weaker in body but spiritually stronger than both my remaining friends. I was determined I was going to make it out of that camp.
“Although the deaths continued to mount there were few if any new prisoners. We heard no news from the outside. We were a lot weaker and our uniforms were now noticeably hanging from us. Some times we went a couple of days without food rations. Other than for burial duty the work parties didn’t go out each day so there were days we had no wood for building fires nor water to drink. During this time things were real bad.
“Those of us who were still capable made a last ditch effort to complete the tunnel. It seemed to be our only chance of ever getting out of that God forsaken place alive. About a couple of weeks into April we finally broke through about four yards outside the stockade wall where the land sloped down. It faced away from the camp therefore unseen from the guards on the parapet.” Victoria couldn’t help noticing the significance of the timing of the escape as Heath turned and looked at her and gave a crooked but cynical smile, “You know don’t you?” he asked. Sadly his stepmother nodded in the affirmative.
“We decided on the following night to make our escape during the hours of darkness,” Heath went on with his telling, “before the light of the moon came round to that side of the camp. We thought no further than being on the outside of the stockade walls. Any more decisions would be made once we were in the tunnel. We were so demoralized that we were frightened to think or plan any further.
“There were only twenty three of us making the escape. Those of us still alive who had been involved in the digging who felt they were strong enough to make the attempt. From the beginning there had been three times that many involved in the digging but many were now dead as Jack, Wes and Jed were and there many who were no longer well enough mentally or physically to make the attempt. With the break out having been decided I noticed a positive change in Paddy and Hank. This is what they both needed to rekindle their hope. The driving force and the power within me had been the vow I had made to Jack.
“Anxiety kept us company for most of the day of the escape. Fear that something would happen to prevent us even attempting it. I never worried about the actual escape I would take my chance like the others just as long as we weren’t prevented from trying. It is hard for someone who wasn’t there to understand what making that escape meant to me, to all of us.”
This small aside Heath made for the benefit of his stepmother who had sat silent and motionless throughout his telling. He could not fathom at the thoughts which were going through her head he only hoped that he had not alienated her further with the distasteful revelations he had disclosed. This evening he had poured out his soul to her after a day in which his trust and love for his new family had been badly shaken. A day in which the last face he had ever seen in Carterson had come back to haunt him. A day in which his family had chosen his enemy over him. A day in which he learnt that the love for him by his new family was conditional.
There seemed to be so many hoops he needed to jump through to be an accepted member. This hoop today had been too difficult. He had not been given a choice nor had he been asked for his opinion. He had been told that he was to go to the logging camp to protect Bentell and thereby lose his hate and anger. The decision made was as direct as that and there were no guarantees that fulfilling their demands would remove his hate or anger. Then when he stormed from the study determined that he was going to leave this house his stepmother had come offering him an olive branch. He hadn’t exactly jumped at the chance to spill his guilt and shame out to her but knew that it might be the only chance he had of coming to terms and accepting Carterson for what it was and to remain a part of a family that he had been willing to give his all for.
...Continued