the halloween chronicles - B.T. Stratford

October 31, 1812

Steven Crowley peered from under his rain-soaked hat. Starting from his left, then moving to the right, it was tough to make out the battle-weary soldiers from the new recruits due to the darkness of the night and mud on their uniforms caused by days of dampness. The fear on each of their faces also made them indistinguishable from each other.

There were hundreds of men. It was the largest gathering of the U.S. Army in Missouri in years. Across the line of soldiers facing the hill were multiple variations of cannons, lending to the proof that the government had brought in every piece of artillery that it had available in the area. There were horses and wagons, gunpowder barrels and reserve rifles loaded and propped up against each other to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. Crowley’s greatest interest, however, were the three large, multibarreled guns sitting in the same wheel bases as the cannons. He had peaked under the canvas protecting the guns from the weather, only to be shooed away by a number of soldiers. 

“Something new,” said the colonel when Steven had inquired about them. “They’ve only been tested, never used. Hopefully we won’t need them.”

Steven shifted on his horse and checked to make sure his own rifle was staying dry. Most likely sensing his tenseness, his horse stamped the ground and quivered. The steam from the breaths of both of them created a fog around the pair that hid their features. 

He hated waiting in these moments, and he especially hated not being part of the action. Not knowing what was happening on the front line caused a constant flutter in his stomach, and while he appeared calm to those around him, they all knew that inside his heart was racing, and all he was waiting for was any indication, no matter how small, that he was needed. In that moment, he would be gone – down the trail with no regards for what might be waiting for him.

Several questioned under hushed breath how he was able to wait at all. In the end though, those in charge had told him that he was better suited to his current position and would prove to be much more useful here if the need called for it. Only those that were critical to the situation and were equipped to handle it were allowed to be up front. Those in support roles had to stay half a mile away in order to keep everything under control.

Steven shifted again in his saddle. It was killing him that he could not be up there with her. He had all the faith in the world that Sarah had the confidence and the ability to carry out what she had to do, but the fact that she was there and he was here and unable to protect her was too much to handle. He tried to picture her face in his mind, in order to try and ease his nerves. Doing so had helped in the past, but this time, the scenario was so severe, that his images of her would begin happy and warm, but quickly turn into darkness, cold and fear. It was too much. He grabbed the reins.

“Crowley!” The colonel apparently had been doing a formidable job of keeping one eye on the hill and one on his jittery tracker. 

Steven gritted his teeth, but turned his horse to the right and moved silently to the colonel’s position several feet away. As he did so, he glanced twice to his left at the trailhead and the entrance to the cave in the distance.

The light rain had gathered on the brims of the mens’ hats, and the drips fell on the backs of their horses.

“You going somewhere, son?” asked the colonel.

Steven looked up at the older man. His nose had turned red from the cold, but he held the typical military poise, the kind meant to instill confidence in his men and to maintain a sense of preparation in case a portrait taker was about to jump from the brush. 

“You know this is difficult for me, Colonel,” said Steven.

“And me, Crowley,” replied the commanding officer. “I can understand that you want to be up there, but orders are orders, and we can’t afford any situation that might jeopardize what the team is trying to accomplish.”

Steven stared straight into the colonel’s eyes. He was a man whose gaze demanded respect, but he could also detect a bit of sympathy this time. It was not enough to deter him. “The team,” he said through a clenched jaw, “would not be in this position of possible accomplishment if it were not for the work I’ve done over the past several months.”

“So that’s it?” the colonel asked, even though he knew the answer, “You’re feeling left out? That’s a bit selfish of you isn’t it?” Crowley looked out towards the cave again, but the colonel continued, “I guess I was wrong about you. Here I thought something else was causing you to about to gallop off down that trail.”

Steven looked back to the colonel, who had a small smile developing in the corner of his mouth. 

“Calm yourself,” said the colonel. “She will be fine. They will all be fine. You’ve done great work here Crowley. You’ve proven your worth, solidified your financial future and perhaps landed a new trophy?” With this last remark, the colonel looked at Steven and gave a slight laugh, causing the men around the area to look up from their posts.

Steven stared now at the hill down the path where the cave entrance was located, but he continued with the colonel. “I don’t think she’d like to hear you referring to her that way, Colonel. I know I don’t.” The officer waved his hand as if to brush off the comment. “I just want to finish what I started,” said Steven, “and I hate to put that into other people’s hands.” 

“You are a fantastic researcher, tracker and marksman son,” responded the colonel, knowing full well that the kind words he was giving to the young rider were rolling right off of him. “My offer still stands to include you in the outfit, but,” he continued as Steven smiled to himself and gazed off into the misty horizon, “since we all know that does not appeal to you, then you know you have to keep your distance, and let those involved do their jobs.”

With that the colonel turned his horse and went back to his position. “Happy Halloween,” he said over his shoulder, “and cheer up. We’re in for better days now.”

“I hope so,” Steven muttered under his breath.

He scanned the trail again and leaned forward in his saddle. His horse stirred, but he patted it on the neck, issuing a calming “shush” to settle it. He was listening for indication of the team’s actions, successful or not. He strained to fight back the feelings of racing down the path to ensure that his Sarah was safe. It had taken what seemed like an eternity to win her trust and love, and to know that yards away all of that was in jeopardy was agonizing to bear.

Steven pulled out his pocket watch. Eleven forty-eight. They were cutting it close, but he had to give them more time. While the exclusion from the final events was killing him, he calmed himself by picturing each team member’s face and believing that each one was the professional he knew them to be.

The first indication was so subtle, he swore that he imagined it. The slightest breeze twirled around him and his horse, making the steed tremble ever so slightly and stamp his foot as if to shake off the chill. 

Then a strong gust came racing down the path and all of the horses along the line became instantly rigid, staring out into the mist toward the opening of the cave. The wind continued to gain force, stirring up the dead fall leaves on the ground, even the ones that had been plastered to the mud from the rain and the trampling animals. The light rain that had been falling did not become any heavier, but the force of the wind along with the cold made the drops turn into pins that stung the faces of the soldiers gathered on the line.

Steven braced himself against the changing weather, knowing that it was expected as part of the event. He strained into the wind, again using his trained eyes and ears to try and make out any actions through the flying debris, sand and water.

It was then that he felt the slight tremor.

“Colonel!” he yelled out.

“Steady yourself Mr. Crowley!” the colonel shouted back, but he followed that with an order. “Mr. Wainwright! Stand by!”

An officer barked out instructions, at which point several soldiers around the experimental guns sprang into action, pulling back the tarps that had been keeping them dry and revealing the glistening metal of the multi-barreled artillery. They readied themselves behind the guns, going through their preparations with lightning quick precision and loading the multi-bullet ammunition strips into the barrels.

The colonel continued his orders. “Mr. Jackson! Make cannons and infantry ready!” The remaining soldiers also jumped into position, moving forward cannons out of the nearby brush, giving final checks of their rifles, setting scopes on the tops of the barrels and kneeling into their stances in the mud.

The ground continued its slow rumble. Steven’s horse snapped out of its trance and began tossing its head. As it did so, the remaining officers’ horses began to follow suit, neighing and stamping their hooves in the thick mud. Steven steadied his horse once again, but his heart was now thundering in his chest and his head spun back and forth as his horse began to circle. He was determined to keep his focus on the horizon, looking for an indication that would cause the armed assembly to unleash its force on the hill in front of them.

As if someone had dropped a boulder on him from the sky, in the next second, Steven’s whole body was forced down onto the back of his ride. The hard leather of the saddle crushed his abdomen and he nearly broke his nose on the back spine of the horse. The ground was buckling beneath him, literally moving up and down in waves like the sea. Moments later he was rising up, then being thrown back down. This time, however, his horse’s legs gave out, and the two of them toppled to the ground, only the saturation from the wet weather saving him from any critical damage to his body.

Steven tried with all of his might to collect himself and stand up, but the air had been forced out of his lungs from the initial shocks. There was a terrible, crunching rumble echoing all around him, and off in what he believed to be the direction of the cave, he could hear sounds that resembled that of one hundred locomotives steaming down their lines at once. It was difficult to get a sense of direction with the noise and the continuous movement of the ground beneath him. He felt as if his whole body was being pushed further into the ground with each wave, only to be pulled back up and readied for another forceful slam into the cold, dark Missouri mud.

Finally, he managed to position himself on one knee, locating his rifle beside him, and propping himself up with both arms on the piece. Straining still to fill his lungs with air, he glanced around at the soldiers. Some were reaching for tree trunks to brace themselves, others were holding on to their comrades, and the remaining were scurrying for cover under shrubs, not wanting to face the potential fight they had been warned about.

“Gather yourselves, men!” yelled the colonel over all of the noise and commotion. He was desperately trying to regain control over what had suddenly become a scene that even he had not prepared for. “Make ready!”

Steven caught a glimpse of the calamity that was occurring in front of him. Most of the cannons had fallen off their wheels, and the teams in charge of them were having no luck retrieving them as the ground continued to buckle. In one instance, a barrel had come to rest on a soldier’s legs. As he screamed in agony, his fellow soldiers were doing the best they could to gain a hold of the weapon and create some sort of clearance to pull him out.

Wheeling around again towards the direction of the cave, Steven came face to face with the side of his horse, which had also picked itself up off the ground and was trying its best to keep from falling over again. He was sent backwards violently, but as he headed in the direction of the ground once more, he grabbed hold of the reins of the horse with his left hand and managed to hold his rifle with his right. The action kept him from landing on his back, as the horse steadied itself by firmly planting its hooves into the soft ground.

Whether it actually happened or not, Steven felt the shaking subside for just a moment, and sensing that he might not get another chance, he pulled his body back towards the horse with all of his strength. In one swift motion, he crammed his left foot into the stirrups of his horse and swung his right leg over its back. As he did so, another wave from the ongoing quake struck, and once again he felt all of his weight pushing down into the back of the steed, but this time he did not let it impede what he needed to do. Urging his horse to go, he pounded his mud-caked heels twice into its sides and sent it blazing past the mess of military near him.

“Crowley!” the colonel yelled from a knee, “Get back here! I can’t – “

“Colonel!” one of his men interrupted him. “Blue unit is ready!”

The colonel spun back around just as Steven disappeared down the path in a shower of earth and leaves. While the quake was still occurring, his men had managed to get one of the experimental guns under control and had wedged its wheels on the sides, back and front, with its barrel aimed towards the cave. The colonel worked to fix his gaze once more down the path and then commanded his men.

“Help Grey unit with theirs. We’ll need it.” He tried his best to make out Steven in the darkness, but the man was gone. “I’m sorry kid,” he whispered under his breath. Then he drew his sword from its scabbard and barked out his order: “Mr. Jackson! Fire when ready!”