We was riding up from Lemoyne,
50 of my finest Southern men &
a couple cooks who joined up with
the CSA a few weeks back...
Halfway to Tall Trees we set up a
camp. We had orders to wipe out
a whole village of Indians. I didn't
wanna wipe out&kill my long lost
relatives.; I grew up with the white
men even though i'm red myself
I hesitated to send my men in; told
"let's wait till the sun comes up".
Well, that was the biggest mistake
of my life and my career with the
Confederates, see, while my men
tucked into their tents I snuck out
the back of our camp for a drink
of Rye whiskey. I was about a
couple hundred yards away from
the tents when i heard the scream
in my drunken stupor back to camp only to see blood covering the tents and hear screams of pain and misery. While I was gone it appears some of the Reds broke in to camp and scalped at least half my men and killed the rest. I couldn't peice it all together, my men gone, I abandoned them. So it was my duty to put the live ones out of their misery, it took everything I had....
The blood still stains my Lemat's grips, it still stains my mind and my soul. I cleaned up the mess, buried my men, and ran. I been running since, haven't stopped since. Can't stop. The south thought I killed all them men. Well I guess I did, but what we're my options. I can barely live with myself, I can barely think straight these days. That color will never leave my mind. Dark red running down my face. I left behind all my family, all my men, and all my dignity. Now I'm looking to reclaim my life, I want to be an honorable man, but I'm a war criminal. There's not one place they don't want me dead. I'm glad to have my brothers, they've helped me turn this blur of a nightmare into rage I can harness and use in combat...
of what sounded like a thousand
lost souls. I ran fast as i could in
Uncle Poncheon Scrungus