be problems and to every problem, there is a solution. There ain’t no denying, we’ve got one heck of a problem, and it’s gonna be left up to someone to solve it. We’re just gonna have to get control of the South again, that’s all.”
“That’s all,” Jack exclaimed, feeling a little tipsy. “You think we ought to put our men in arms again. You think we could drive them out? That’s ridiculous. Our war is over.”
“I’m not talking about raising new armies. I’m talking about taking control of our government again,” Robert explained. “The military won’t always be stationed here and when they’re gone, we’ve got to place our men in every elected seat of government in every southern state. Whoever makes the laws, controls the action of its citizens. Our job is to form an organization now that will place our eligible candidates on the ticket come election time and find ways to get the Negroes, sorry Whites, and those Northern scavengers who are now holding office, back to where they belong. That’s what we need to do.”
Jack laughed. “I think the scotch is getting to your head now. You think all those so called undesirables will graciously give up their seats? We don’t even hold a majority vote. What we gonna do? Run ‘em off with sticks. How ‘bout killing the devils? Is that what you intend?”
Robert peered over the top of his glasses and nodded “I state once again. We select our candidates and then do whatever is necessary to eliminate the competition. There are ways that this can be done, and yes, if it takes violence, then let it be. You know the old saying, ‘The end justifies the means.”
“You think someone could do this?”
“We’ve just got to find someone to lead the movement. Someone the South will follow, someone the soldiers respect. Our troops have put down their rifles, but I promise you, they still have the fight in ‘em. It’ll just be a little different kind of warring. Our Southern soldiers will follow the right man. How about you? I followed your career during the war and you were one of the best division commanders the South had.”
“Not me old friend, I might have had a good military reputation but I paid the price for it. I got shot eleven times and there are times that even now I have numbness in my left leg and at other times I can hardly catch my breath.”
Jack thought for a moment. “How about Hood? I’m on the way to New Orleans right now for a job he has lined up for me. He was some kind of Gen’ral.”
“Don’t think so. He all but destroyed one of our armies up there at Franklin. Lot of the men lost faith in him. We need someone they idolize. We need a real fire-eating fighter. It’s got to be someone special.”
Jack walked about the room for a few moments, then said, “I know the man that will get the job done.”
On an August day in 1867, in the Little Rock community located in rural east central Mississippi, slightly past mid-day, a young woman suddenly slammed open her front door, angrily picked up her sagebroom and scurried out on her front porch where two of her husband’s hounds were curled up sleeping. Loose chicken feathers surrounding the dogs revealed the plight of the flock.
“You sorry devils!” she screamed. “My husband said he thought the foxes or hawks been eating ‘em, but now we know,” she said taking a swing at the nearest dog. “You’re the culprits cleaning out the hen house, and I’ll tell you one thing. I’m fixin’ to beat the living sin out of both of you.” She struck one of the dogs so hard it knocked him off the side of the porch as he tried to run toward the steps.
“Not only that, the next time my husband is gone for a few days, you two devils gonna come up amiss. I’ll take that shootin’ iron of his and for all he knows, the panthers got you. That’s what I’m gonna do.”
Howling to the top of their lungs, the hounds ran for protection under the house. A few wandering chickens flapped their wings in flight to the nearest tree limb. Meanwhile the angry woman hadn’t noticed the visitor who had ridden to the edge of the yard.
“Say you gonna kill ‘em, Sister,” the man called out.
Startled by the sound of a voice, the woman spun around and saw a man she had known all of her life sitting there calmly on his horse rolling a smoke.
The woman threw down her broom and placed her hands defiantly on her hips as she scowled, “Timothy Johnson, how long you been sitting there?”
With a smurkish smile, he replied, “Long enough to see you beat the hell out of James’ dogs, and I do believe you’re gonna sure ‘nough kill ‘em first chance you get. I do believe that Mister James has up and married him a dog killer.”
“Dog Killer! I barely hit ‘em and they have been killing my birds,” Sister said, as she went down the steps.
“Yes Ma’am, I saw what you done to James’ prize hounds,” Timothy said, lighting his smoke. “And just wait ‘til I tell the preacher how you been cussing right out in public. Yes ma’am, Sister Wilson, you are one violent woman.”
No sooner had he finished his statement, than Sister reached for her broom and with one swing, and to her own surprise, knocked Timothy from his horse onto the ground. Startled by the unexpected attack, Timothy’s horse bolted across the yard into a field and in the confusion, Timothy’s smoke went sailing into the air landing right in Sister’s hair. Sister could envision her hair aflame and began screaming and shaking her head in all directions.
As she frantically tried to get the smoke out of her hair, Timothy sat there on the ground laughing as hard as he could, enjoying every minute of Sister’s dilemma.
Seeing the smoke fall to the ground and knowing that she was no longer in trouble, Sister quickly regained her composure.
Through the years, Timothy, one of her older brother’s best friends, and she had delighted in tormenting each other with pranks and verbal comments. Sister had always loved to antagonize Timothy but had a difficult time when she was the one being teased. Often parents had to intervene when the arguments got out of hand. Her seeming appearance of dislike masked the fact that she had found him both attractive and somewhat dashing. Timothy’s lack of parental discipline and his stories of devilish and adventurous exploits intrigued her. Even though she knew his stories were exaggerated, they still managed to excite her. One thing was certain, when they were together, sparks were going to fly.
Smoothing her hair, she glanced over at Timothy. “I know what you’re trying to do and it ain’t gonna work. You’re not getting me upset, Mister Timothy Johnson.”
He, pulling himself up, replied, “Too late, Sister. You done made a fool out of yourself, and you might near killed me in the process. That fall almost broke my wood leg.” He had lost the lower part of his right leg during the war and was very protective of his artificial limb.
Hobbling to get his horse he continued, “Come sundown, me and that brother of yores is going to a revival down near Hickory.”
“Revival! You ain’t going to no church meeting,” Sister exclaimed. “You ain’t been in a church since your daddy died more than a year ago, and my brother don’t need to be going nowheres with the likes of you.”
Mounting his horse, Timothy replied, “Then where in blazes do you think I intend to carry him, Miss Know-it-all.”
By that time Sister had gone
