This week I drove down to Pink Hill, NC, south of Kinston, to pick up a car. It’s the first time this spring I’ve taken the time to journey outside of the city for any business. I was amazed at the sparkling green of the fields, trees, and the ‘newness’ of the fresh growth across the downeast land of NC. One of my favorite things to do while driving is taking photo’s… (of coursed stopped)
I love old, decrepit barns, outbuildings, and sheds. Usually this time of year they are covered with fresh growth of kudzu, wysteria, and all forms of climbing vines. I stop often and wonder what the history of these buildings were, and what were they used for. Some are actually old houses with empty window frames hiding secrets in the pitch black of the glassless frames. The wood is scarred and worn down from years of neglect and weathering.
One of these old barns could have a history folded into the following story.
On the nights of October 27 and 28, 1864, just a shy of a century before I was born, William B. Cushing and his team began working their way upriver, toward Plymouth, NC, for one purpose: To sink the ironclad CSS Albemarle. This feisty little ship had caused the Union Navy much trouble. Cushing, full of pride and ego, decided to throw all twenty-two of his men, and the element of surprise to capture the Albemarle.
As they approached the Confederate docks at dusk their luck turned, and they were spotted in the dark. They came under heavy rifle and pistol fire from both the shore and aboard the Albemarle. As they closed with the ironclad, they quickly discovered she was defended against approach by floating log booms. The logs, however, had been in the water for many months and were covered with heavy slime. Their steam launch rode up and then over them without difficulty; with her spar pushed fully against the ironclad’s hull, Cushing stood up in the bow and pulled the lanyard, detonating the torpedo’s explosive charge.
The explosion threw Cushing and his men overboard into the water. One of the other men in Cushing’s launch escaped, two were drowned following to the explosion, and the rest were captured. The one that escaped was Bradly Banner, a young Navy Lt. who saw the fervor of Cushing to sink the Albemarle as a great feat to assist with, but now he was alone, wet, wounded, and in Confederate territory. This made him an enemy to be shot on site. He was half naked with his remaining burned, tattered wool garments barely hanging off him. His epitaphs were missing, which was good for him, since he might be able to live longer without having the identification of the Union on his shoulders.
He worked his way up from the river, along a vine encrusted fence line to a tobacco 
barn, where he hid for the night. He tried to stay awake all night keeping watch, but after the strenuous hours of navigating the enemy river with Cushing, and then surviving the grueling explosion of their attack, he succumbed to the black gloom of certain capture, by falling into a deadman’s sleep.
He was awaken by the creaking, rusty sound of the one door slowly opening, to present a silhouette of a man with a pitchfork. Clearly Banner had been found and this would be his last day alive; cold, wet, hay and mud covered, only to be led out somewhere is this humid, wet land of the south for what… maybe not what he thought. He wasn’t sure who the enemy was anymore and just wanted to be done with the killing.
The farmer, Doctor Florence Jenkins, was sizing up the situation quickly. Though in his 80’s, he was still active. The sunken old eyes could see everything and he knew he had the high ground and clearly could strike, taking his pitchfork and ending this young man’s life instantly. Then, behind the doctor, walked a gentle smaller figure, wearing a bonnet. Instantly Banner knew it was a woman and he realized his doom was set. These people had to know the Albemarle had been sunk, had to know there were escaped men in this small town being rounded up, and surely a reward of some sorts would be presented for his capture, from the Confederate commander. This old wolf, though aged, wouldn’t risk a woman’s life for his.
Doc Jenkins leaned over to his granddaughter and whispered something in her ear. Emily, named for Doc Jenkins’ deceased wife, began to protest. This caused the old man to speak up. “Emily, you know my ways and don’t you argue with me a bit or I will lean you over my leg like I used to when you were a little lass. Do as I say!”
Once Emily huffed away, the good doctor turned toward Banner and with the speed of a river copperhead he struck. The pitchfork came forward and was thrust right beside Banner’s head within an inch of his right eye.
“Young boy, I am about to make a purchase. Ye understand me? We ain’t gonna argue none about this. You died out on that river, didn’t ye boy?”
Banner was totally perplexed… He sat in panic, fear and silence. Clearly, facing down old Doctor Jenkins was ten times worse than facing the might of the CSS Albermarle with Cushing!
The Doctor continued, “Ye see here, I gots me this kinda gift. I can size up a man in the blink of an eye, and though I don’t know why ye chose the sides of them damn federals, it must be the Almighty had better plans for ye. If I understand the situation, you yahoos came up river, blew up our ship and just about sealed the doom of Plymouth to your kind. Does that sound about right to you, son?”
Banner couldn’t find any words.
“Answer me quickly son, or I might need to make another strike with my fork here…”
“Yes sir, ye be right, that was the plan.”
“Well,” the old man said, “let me see your hands.” to which Banner held them up over his head like he was being arrested. “No you fool, put them down in front so I can see your hands,” hissed the old man.
Banner stuck his hands forward and old Doc Jenkins grabbed them. He ran his hand over Banner’s fingers, knuckles, and palms. “Callus, tough skin, cuts and bruising… I would say outside of your jackass, misplaced ideas of being a hero, ye be a working man… that about right?”
“Yes sir, been working in farms most of my life,” replied Banner, grateful to find a safe question he could give answer for.
“Ye got any family back home?” asked old Doc Jenkins. Banner got quiet and turned away. “Answer me boy! Time is short. Generals Robert Hoke and Matt Ransom, as well as the ‘former’ Commander of the C.S.S Albemarle, James Cooke are going through these woods looking for anyone and anything they can kill to get revenge for the sinking of the Albemarle.”
Banner looked ready to face his doom since he knew, no one was waiting for him at home. “No sir, momma and daddy died years ago and I am only child.”
“Well, looky here Granddaughter,” Doc said turning toward the approaching Emily, “Remember me telling you about my long best friend, Governor Owens of the Savannah clan?”
Emily said in an irritated voice, “No Grandpapa, I have no idea what ye are talking ‘bout.”
Doc Jenkins said, “Girl you don’t ever listen to me, do ye? This is Jebsen Stewart Owens. I remember when he was a born. Now go roust up some vittles while I help Jeb here. Now go on and do as Grandpapa says.”
With that, Emily left the clothes the Doctor had ordered, and headed back to the house. He learned over, pulled Banner up by his hands to help him stand and looked him eye to eye.
“Listen to me son, I am only gonna say this one time. I’ve seen enough blood spilled for 5 lifetimes, and your death isn’t gonna serve anyone anything. But your life just might. That is up to you. I am about to make a purchase and a bet. When Hoke and his gang of thugs get here, and surly they are a comin’, I am going to tell them you belong to me and are my long lost friend’s son, come to visit. You’ve been here with us for a few day,s but since the battle has moved to here you are staying put with me ’till things calm down. That… is my purchase. Now, my bet… I am all auburn haired Emily has, against this wicked world. My days be short and I’ve been praying God sends her someone who will love her and provide for her, and I just bet, you be that man. Now I know love is from the Almighty, but if you will stick around and make sure this place keeps a running after I am gone, I will see to it you’re taken care of.”
“That’s my bet. Ye up for the challenge, son?”
Little did the world know that one man’s courage to stand against everything he had been taught, everything his life around him told him to do, would matter so much. You see, Jeb not only stuck around, but he eventually married Emily and they raised 4 sons, and 3 daughters together. On the other side of Doctor Jenkins’s death bed, a year after these events in 1865, the war was over, and the lines between North and South had started to blur. People were just ‘folks’ again, and the enemy was learning to live, rebuild, and love… not fight. This man’s courage in the face of certain doom saved another man that continues to live in our blood lines today.
Yep… that could be what happened in that old barn…
You never know….
