Butler, his full name being Moses Butler, was an imposing figure in the inner circle of Northrum Oil. Moses was born in March 1865, just at the tail end of the American Civil War, on a plantation just outside of Mobile, Alabama. His mother was a slave and his father was the son of the plantation owner. He was birthed into a world wrapped in hated and anger. Moses destiny was defined before he even made his first cry into the wind.
At the exact moment that his mother was sweating and pushing her son into the world down in the small shack her and two dozen other slaves called him, up in the mansion house his grandfather was preparing for the incoming Northern Invaders. He had heard the stories, just as every one else had, of the Union Army coming to plantations and pillaging, raping, and setting free the slaves all at gunpoint and under the guise of their government's orders. He was not going to let some damned Yankee destroy his families home, four generations had lived on that same spot. His plan for survival was drastic.
He was going to fight to defend his land but he worried about his slaves joining in with the Army. Moses Butler's grandfather, not evening knowing his existed, gave the instruction to the small group of Rebels in the Mansion to go down to the field and "Exterminate every single Negro" To him they were replaceable, they were not people but currency.
Somehow news of this forth coming liquidation reached the slaves. Moses's mother pushed him into the world and as she lay there recovering with her son on her breast, she was told he would be killed. She tried to plead with the others in the shack that he had the blood of the family in him. They wouldn't kill one of their own!
"There is no time for this babbling girl! He is half a Negro which to them makes him just like the rest of us. We gotta get you two away, get you to the Yankees." These worlds of wisdom were spoken by a winkled, old woman named Dolly. "Get up now child, at got no time to waste." Moses's mother tried to up off the blood stained blood that she was laying on but her knees gave out and she fell back. She let out a blood curdling scream. "Oh dear Jesus!"
The straw underneath her, already soaked in blood, became floating debris in the river that now flowed from between her legs. Dolly noticed at once that her eyes began to roll in the back of her head, her arms becoming weak. Dolly quickly reached down and picked up the baby before that poor woman became fully slack. After moment paced Dolly could see that she was dead, all colored had left her and her body was limp. Dolly was now left holding this dead woman's child.
Outside the shack Dolly could hear a commotion followed by a gunshot. They had come. It was a sunny, Alabama early afternoon. The most that Dolly could hope for was to be able to slip out during the fighting. It would have been easier had she been sixty years younger, however she was well past eighty. One of the first slaves brought to this plantation as a young girl. "Oh Lord give me strength." Dolly held the child as tight as she could as she made her way outside.
The whole of the yard was a blood-bath, the White man had thought he would be able to get rid of the slaves quick and easy, however due to the notice that they had been given the slaves had be prepared for a fight. It was violence unlike anything she had ever seen. Gun smoke hung in the air as tortured screams of the dying reached out like specters. Dolly tried to shield the harmless, squirming, newborn against her chest as tight as she could. He was small, his weight felt like nothing even to the old woman who carried him. She cut around the back of the row of shacks planned to make her way down to the Mobile River that ran along the property. As she rounded the corner of the building she made eye contact with the Overseer. "Trying to run away huh?" His whip in one hand and a pistol in the other, the smears of blood and dirt that covered him made him look like the pure essence of death.
Dolly thought that this was it, the end of her story and of the little baby in her arms. Eighty-four years of life and less than ten minutes of life both about to end right there on that spot. The Overseer raised his pistol, "No hard feelings, Nigger."
Just before he fired off the shot he was grabbed from behind. Standing behind him was Otis. Six foot six, three hundred pounds. Bought from one of the last slave auction in Atlanta, born and breed to work tirelessly in the cotton fields of the deep south. Otis wrapped his hands around the Overseer's neck and with a quick twist followed by a sharp snap killed him. "You best get going, Miss Dolly. Ain't nothing good for you here no more." Otis reached down and picked up the pistol and the whip and ran back towards the fighting.
Dolly felt a sharp stab on the right side of her chest, followed by a sharp cough. The stress of everything was starting to catch up with her. All she needed was a little more strength to get the baby to safety. She began to plead in her mind with God to give her the will to save the little lamb. Walking through the radiating pain that shot up the side of her neck she made it down to the river.
When she reached the bank she collapsed to her knees, the pain becoming unbearable. Tears streamed down her cheeks in heavy droplets. All she wanted in that moment was to lie down, maybe they were far enough away. She could take a moment and catch her breath, yes that would be okay. She laid the baby down next to her and laid back. Her eyes closed against at the blinding sunlight. Dolly Johnson, aged eighty-four years died on the banks of the Mobile River on Saturday March, First 1865.
Just as the life was starting to pull itself away from Dolly, the temperature at the riverbank began to drop to just above freezing. Out from the brush walked a man in a dark black suit walked over to the baby. "I think you and I will become great friends." The Cold Man spoke with ice hanging off every word. Reaching up into the trees he pulled off a large, freshly bloomed magnolia leaf. Picking the baby off the ground the Cold Man placed the baby on the leaf and lowered it onto the surface of the water. In spite of everything that had happened to the small baby in the last half hour he made no sound as the Cold Man left him to float down the river in that bright, spring sun.