Route to Richmond Virginia
September 8th, 1851
Day 4 of 21st Infantry's Furlough
Day 29 of the Invasion of Equestria
So I rode. There was no way I was going to walk the way to Richmond, so I packed a few essentials, and stole my way onto the nearest train. I didn't bring my Army uniform, it would attract too much attention. I managed to hop onto a train when nobody was looking, and I was able to stow away with a surplus of food and medical supplies that were being sent to the front.
I followed the route to Washington D.C., and when I reached it, I saw the complete opposite of what I had seen in Philadelphia. The people there were well-dressed, they were clean, and there were no black armbands that I could see on any of them.
It disgusted me.
Boarding the next train, I was greeted by four rather poor gentlemen, who then proceeded to walk towards me with knives. I drew my revolver, and pointed it at them, stating that there was no point for them to die here.
They were happy to comply, seeing that I was much better armed than them. While I had my pistol pointed at them, the train began to move. I didn't have time to admire the change from an industry-driven area to an agriculture-based area.
When the train finally stopped in Richmond an hour later, they faked surprise as they got up from what was an obviously fake attempt to make it seem as though they were sleeping.
"Thanks for the smooth ride" With this, I hopped off, holstering my revolver, and spotting a carriage nearby, quickly mounted it, pushing aside a woman who was rather well dressed.
Come to think of it, Richmond wasn't as big as Philadelphia, but it's citizens surely were in a much better state.
The carriage driver looked me over with distrust, perhaps spotting my revolver. "Wright residence, please. I'd prefer not to push anybody else today." I gave him the most nasty look I could muster, and slowly drifted off to sleep.
"Hey, here we are! Come on, get up!" Strangely enough, the carriage driver didn't seem to have any form of accent at all.
I tried to get off the carriage normally, but I was so tired I wound up falling, as I looked up at a rather small looking house, around it every form of crop from tomato to cotton. I shuffled my way over to the door, and knocked as politely as I could.
"Howdy." The man who answered the door was rather large looking, and was armed with quite an accent, perhaps more than Tom's.
"Hey, uh, is this the Wright residence?" My voice alarmed him, and he grabbed a pistol, and before I knew it, he held me dead to rights. His eyebrows were not unlike the ones of the ponies, especially that one I had bayoneted in Canterlot...
"We don't lak any Yankees 'round here...'specially not any from tha ISD..." I cautiously held up my arms, and replied, staring at his pistol, "Listen...I'm not an officer! I don't have an armband! See?" I turned, and showed him my right arm.
"Well, I'll be damned! A good Yankee! Come on in, fella!" His deathly stare turned to a happy smile as I stepped into his house, my feet creating a series of creaks on the wooden floor. "Hey Tom! Mary! All of y'all, we got ourselves a good Yankee!"
I breathed I sigh of relief as I heard Tom's name, followed by his tired voice "Come on, father, it's gettin' dark...I'm ti-JOHN! IS IT YOU?"
I smiled, and Tom embraced me in a suffocating bear hug. "Oh my God, father, it's him! John Carter, the man I told ya about!" He broke off his embrace, and was bombarding me with questions.
"John, how was it? What's the city like? How's Philadelphia? Did you see the renovations they're putting in? Oh my God, I have so much to-" I put up a hand, and he stopped.
"I'm sorry, but I'm very tired. It wasn't easy getting here, what with train tickets costing $200. If you don't mind, sir," I looked over at Mr. Wright, "I'd like to use a bed for the night, if that wouldn't be too much to ask?"
He nodded, smiling. "Sure, Yank! Make yourself at home!" Tom looked over at his father, and was giving him an instruction on not to call me a 'Yank' when I promptly fell asleep right then and there.
The next day, I awoke to the sound of someone playing a violin, and it only took me a few seconds to realize the tune was Yankee Doodle. "Oh, I see that you're awake! Come on, soldier, time to muster! Colonel Gearhart wants us in line of battle quickly!" Tom started to laugh as he set down his violin, and my eyes struggled to adjust to the sunlight coming through the window.
I got out of the bed, and looked over at Tom, confused. "Don't ya remember? You collapsed right then and there! You were out," he snapped his fingers, "like that! I carried you up, and got you in this bed, and you know the rest!"
I looked down at my clothes, the same from yesterday. "Hey, Tom, I don't suppose that you've got anything I can wear for the time being?" Tom nodded, and tossed me some farming clothes, a bit too large, but fitting nonetheless. He turned around, and I slipped them on, and I patted him on the shoulder.
"So, I don't suppose that you have any food? Breakfast, maybe?" Tom's eyes lit up, and he guided me downstairs, where his father was reading the paper. I was seated, and the Wrights began to assemble for their early meal.
There were five of them, including Tom. Mr. and Mrs. Wright, of course, and two of their daughters, one of them about my age, the other far smaller, around the age of 5. They seemed disinterested in me, and took their seats. When Mrs. Wright brought eggs and ham, Mr. Wright stood up, and began to speak.
"I'd like to propose a toast, to our newfoun' friend, Private John Carter. Tom has told me much 'bout you, and you is always here."
I smiled, and nodded, more concerned with the warm food sitting on the table in front of me. I eyed it rather intently, and did my best to wait patiently while the other members of Tom's family began passing it out.
Finally receiving my portion, I began to eat viciously, hungry from my long journey. After I had finished, Mr. Wright looked me over, and asked, "So, I hate ta be rude, but just what is it that this Yank-I mean, young man, wants here?"
"Well, sir, I frankly need to get away from Philadelphia. It's hell up there."
Mrs. Wright nodded, trying to understand. "Is it now?"
"Yes, ma'am, it is. It is...well...more terrifying than battle with the ponies..." I let that out, and forgot that this wasn't my father I was talking too.
"Ponies, you call the Equestrians-"
I smiled, and interrupted him. "Sir, it's the term we use. Please, it's just a nickname we give those devils." I was kicking myself inside for calling them devils, when the real ones were in Philadelphia.
Mr. Wright nodded, and shrugged, "I guess they had ta be called something..."
"Well, father, if there's nothing going on that's of any importance, I'd like to take John outside. Stretch those legs of his." I stood up, along with Tom, and were given a prompt "Sure".
We stepped outside, onto the green field that was the Wright residence. I was given a much better view of the Wright residence: it was a rather small farm, big enough to sell their product, not big enough to warrant slaves.
There were some farmhands tending the fields, all of whom were white.
"You're probably thinkin' that we own slaves, but we don't. Father is very against forcin' a man to work." Tom muttered this, looking down at the ground. I nodded slowly, and he stopped walking. "Listen, now that we're out here," I began, "I'd like to ask..." I almost couldn't say it, and I had to close my eyes, forcing the words out. "...If you're going back to the war. I will be."
He turned around, looking me over with a frown, and a rather dark expression. "I...don't know how I feel. This war will be the end of me if I go back...yet at the same time, I can't live here. I've been an absolute wreck at home, when you came around...it just...reminds me of who I was."
I nodded, tears beginning to form. "I can't live in Philadelphia...there's a man on every corner who wants to kill you, the insane always swarm you, asking for help, food, or something impossible. And you know what's worst, Tom?"
He shook his head, and tears were now falling out of my eyes, so much that I couldn't see him crying either.
"The...these people...they think that we're saving them...when all we're doing is pulling them to the brink! THEY THINK THERE'S HOPE! THESE PEOPLE ARE DOOMED!" I noticed that I was kicking the ground, punching the air, finding something tangible to release my anger. The farmhands in the fields turned to look at me.
I noticed Tom sniffling, and he told me to wait where I was.
"John, if you want an answer, here. This is it."
It was the package he had given me at Ponyville.
We were going back.