“WAAAA” Red haired, blue-eyed Henry boisterously screamed his first greeting around

7:00 A.M. on the muggy morning of June 5, 1852. He was born around what is now Birmingham,

 Alabama to his proud parents Irish John Johnstone and his fiery wife Samantha. His father John,

an agronomist in the cotton industry, was a tall slender man with broad shoulders, reddish hair,

and blue eyes. Samantha, tall as well and with her creamy white complexion, contrasting green

eyes and fire red hair a classic Irish beauty. John and Samantha had been married three years

 and anxiously awaited the birth of their son. At Henry’s arrival, they were the picture perfect young

family and good things seemed to be coming their way.
Samantha and John enjoyed raising their son. Henry was an ambitious boy and from an early age

worked diligently with focus. One day when he was four-years-old or so Henry was pulling weeds in

 Samantha’s farmyard. He was working on the fence rows trying to weed some post and other hard to

 reach places that his mother‘s pair of Nanny goats did not clean. He could pull weeds for his Ma and

 stay out of trouble.
This day was the day he realized his goat had a sense of humor. Typically the goats were Henry’s friend

 but this day the black and white Billy was picking on Him. Goats can be ornery and most know that but

 Henry experienced it. With a jarring crunch Henry fell face first and it was a mystery to him why. All Henry

 knew was every time he bent to pull on some weeds “WHAM” he would fall on his face. Samantha watched

 Henry and his hilarious bewilderment as that rank old goat snuck up on Henry and butted him over a

dozen times. Henry finally caught him when he saw his Ma about to roll around on the ground from

laughter. Raising her son on her peaceful farm was exactly what she wanted to provide Henry, just as

 her family had a mile or so up the road.
At Six years old, Henry could aim and shoot his mother’s squirrel gun accurately if she loaded it. By nine,

 He knew how to read, write, add and subtract when few grown adults could. He was always a

well-behaved little man as Samantha could walk with him in the little village surrounded by cotton

and Henry was exceptionally good. He and Samantha would visit the butcher‘s farm, general store,

the church and her family’s plantation when the time and chores at home permitted. John worked for

Samantha’s uncle and brother at the family plantation north of town. Personally, he and Samantha

owned a 40-acre spread south of town with an old farmhouse John’s grandfather had owned. They

grew greens, squash, corn, cotton and peanuts to name some of the farm fare and enjoyed their ancient

log and plank home.* Birmingham is the county seat of Jefferson County. Jefferson County was

established in 1819 and the county seat was Elyton from 1821 to 1873. The Birmingham we know today

 was established in 1873 as the county seat and was one of the first southern cities to be an Industrial

Mecca during the reconstruction period with its railroad access. Birmingham began where two national

rail road lines intersected in Jefferson County. Prior to the Civil war the region was dominated by cotton

 and the plantations that cultivated it.
War came to the South when Henry was nine. By then he was over five -foot tall, freckle-faced and skinny

 as a pole. He could play after school a while but was happy to go home to his evening chores. He had

 goats, chickens and a yearling bull to take care of in the mornings before school and evenings before

dinner. His farm animals he understood but war was a mystery to Henry. He worried about his animals,

 school friends, parents and the teacher he had a crush on like all the other boys in class. Although it

seemed to the folks of Birmingham the war would be won by the Confederacy, most were apprehensive

of Civil War.
In 1864, he lost his hero and father. John died in the battle of Atlanta. All Henry had left besides memories

 of his lost father was John’s rifle and the will to use it. Henry’s environment changed 180 degrees in this

 every man for himself situation and like the little man he must become he carries on. When a town got

 wind union occupation was at hand, it got bad. Typically, wherever the Yankee troops arrived all hell

busts loose. Starting with the news that the arrival of Union troops is pending the trusted cowards, many

 of them public and private officials, run like thieves of the night flee with others property or cash. Trusting

 friends and family were the common prey for these thieves. Others simply left all responsibilities not mobile

 behind and ran for their lives. Fear is making the Birmingham townsfolk act as never before, they all know

 their world is going to be burned to the ground.
The townspeople Henry had known from birth turned into traitors or cheats, thieves, and even abolitionists.

 People were starving as the union troops were eating all their food stored and fresh and had to claw to

scratch out an existence in this anything goes world. The past trash was now treasure and going without

 was best if possible. The townspeople gave the troops what they asked for and went home to nothing

if they had a home after the troops picked quarters. Any of the people living in the cotton plantations,

share croppers and the like, knew their homes would be burnt with the cotton. With so many folks living

in the street, it became grossly unsanitary. So many had no place to run. Henry learned to be sneaky,

 conniving and merciless in this cesspool for humanity. Nothing coming out of this could be good. In this

 period, young Henry gained his very evil ways, the habits and methods that would serve him well when

he became the ruthless pirate of his inescapable destiny.
Although Samantha’s loss was genuine, she would not bow to the despair. She would find a way to leave

town, travel to South Florida to her brother’s house, and get away from the union army and their murdering

 Yankee soldiers. Life would only be so hard on a fetching lass as herself. She could always count on her

 charms and men’s foolishness. Samantha was very curvy and possessed a captivating beauty. When

the union came to town, a young Captain was an apparent Company Commander. He was tall, slim,

and genuinely interested in Samantha’s troubles. He gave her travel money and a supply mule team

driven wagon to travel with. Samantha was so very grateful.
When Henry and his red-haired mother Samantha fled to Florida in 1864, the chaos was setting in.

The bulk of the Union troops on their burning trek gallantly marching through the South closed on

Birmingham just as Henry and his Ma were leaving to Samantha’s brother Luther‘s house in Fort Myers.

 Ten years earlier Luther moved to Florida and formed the Alabama Citrus Company. Luther saw the

wisdom in a farming operation below Florida’s freeze belt.
The first day on the trail was uneventful. They found a nice place close to the trail and set up camp.

The wagon had many personal keepsakes for the Florida homestead. Some linens, silverware from

Ireland and dresses from Atlanta, Baltimore or New York. Most of their possessions worth keeping

had fit in the wagon the Captain had furnished. They had canned foods from the garden since spring

 and staples like flour, lard and sugar were available to them in the wagon. Henry and Samantha slept

with smiles on their faces from their escape but woke up to no wagon or mules. The only thing left of

 their possessions were John’s rifle and gear that Henry slept with and the days clean clothes Samantha

 set out last night and of course Samantha’s purse. After shaking off the shock they fashioned a

 convenient way to carry what was left and started the day, without breakfast.
Leaving in September Henry and his Ma traveled through six months of hell at a rate of two or sometimes

 four miles a day on foot. The small families only hope lay with Uncle Luther and the safety of Florida.

Traveling in the fall gave them cold nights and hot days. They slept hiding in the woods like animals.

Once winter set in, they slept during the day and traveled at night to hide and stay warm. Palmetto

heart and wild grapes and other wood’s fare like gopher berry, mulberry, and huckleberry would go

right through you but was plentiful until the first freeze of winter. Some small towns were quiet and

safe enough looking to venture into. Every town has good and bad and although Henry and Samantha

 had no desire in meeting either they entered towns for food.
One incident along the trek came from a man who took interest in the pair after spotting them buying

supplies near Kissimmee. This stranger Henry observed was wearing a brown and worn leather coat

and chaps. The stranger rode a brown pony about 12 or 13 hands high and had a rifle in his scabbard.

He had a dark complexion with a squinting-eyed face staring at Henry’s mother walking by herself from

storefront to the next. With an obvious obsession in his hard to see face peaking through its gray beard

 and hat Henry could see the man was cause for concern. In an attempt to avoid trouble they stayed clear

 of the roads with their road agents and low lives. Henry had noticed this man looking at Samantha and

then paid attention when leaving town and recognized his horse from afar following five minutes after

Henry and Samantha. This suspicious character tracked them from town and watched them leave

the road to the woods.
     It was early in the morning when this man rides to Henry’s sleeping spot for the day, he must have

been tracking them all night. Henry, just dozing off is awakened at the sound of the hooves. He hears

the familiar clip-clop sound of a horse from one hundred steps or better. Henry sights his loaded musket

 just under the hat of this miscreant and takes his shot. “POW” the musket ball roared as it left the barrel

and hit the stranger in the head with a thud and thak-thak-thak while it ricocheted through the trees after

its exit. The shot jerks the man clear of his saddle, throwing him to the ground with a flop and Henry is

thrilled. The .54 caliber shoots true and packs a powerful impact. His pride in the rifle and his excitement

from the guns effect are obvious by Henry’s shaking hands, triumphant smile and wide, happy eyes. The

sight of Henry’s joy would normally warm a mother’s soul but not this time. Him standing there in his very

road weary attire of blue, faded overhauls, brown coat that could not dim his bright red-hair, shining blue

eyes and grin beaming his rarely enjoyed glee. It was a sight to behold and should have been contagious

 to his Ma, but it did not work that way.
Samantha, awake from the shot sleepily walks to Henry shaking her head no in disgust. Henry’s mother

cried grabbing the rifle from an already flinching Henry “That man done nothing to be shot for” she added,

 “He might never have seen us. You are too quick on the trigger. Life is not for you to take needlessly”.

Then Samantha promptly whipped young Henry within an inch of his life with the musket butt. First She

caught Henry off guard with a poking barrel to the midsection and flipped up the butt on his forehead with

 a KLUNK, just like she would beat out a hanging rug with a broom. She used the butt end as if she was

pounding butter in a churn. His ribs were a safe bet for his Ma once he was down to help him remember.

She tapped his ribs with the edges of the butt to beat them thoroughly, like she was trying to separate the

meat from his rib bones as she growled at him about his bad behavior. Henry was already unconscious

mercifully missing the verbal tirade from the headshot she inflicted with his rifle.
Samantha knew the whipping was brutal but Henry is man sized and needed the strongest discipline

she could muster, it could stop his lack of respect for God’s given life and the Lord’s teachings. She

knew life could mold Henry into something bad, and was determined to fight it all the way. Resigned

to the fact a little killing was to be expected from time to time she let Henry sleep off his beating.
Although the man’s horse looked to be starving as bad as Henry, The fact that He had planned to eat

 some of it tonight cried out in his brain and his first conscious thought but when he fully awoke from

the beating it was gone, Ma had sent it off. “Aw Ma” he croaks as he tries to rise on shaky legs. That

horse had a backstrap that would have fed them fresh meat twice and pounds of dried meat or jerks

for later on down the trail. It was near the end of winter and berries were scarce. This was not the first

man Henry killed around his Ma but was the last in her presence. Boy his ribs were sore and when he

 took a breath it had a corresponding knife sharp pain.
Henry’s hate and fear were so strong that Henry just wanted to shoot anyone they cross paths with.

Most grown men are bigger than Henry, who at thirteen had almost six feet of height, but weighed one

hundred and twenty pounds. A full head of red hair and ice blue eyes caught most off guard. Henry

needed an edge and surprise was a good one. Henry had to protect his Ma and himself. That is easiest

 from a distance. Ma did not agree with Henry saying, “A real man can let people come up close enough

 to get to know them. You cannot be so scared you kill everybody you do not know.” Samantha felt he was

 using her as an excuse to kill all he could because it made him feel big and in charge. She said “Henry,

you keep killing and someday a posse will hunt you down and shoot you like a dog or take you home to

hang to death in front of the townspeople” She prayed he would grow up and listen to his Mama.
Henry noticed while passing through Arcadia that most of the cowboys wore at least part of a confederate

 uniform. It had been a year since Henry had saw men in the confederate garb. Henry assumed the union

 must not be this far south. Henry was right in that the union forces did not influence that area and were

weak this far south. Arcadia will be out of reach for outside law enforcement fifty years after the war. More

 people die in Desoto County than out west at the turn of the century. The wild cow town had up to 50

gunfights a week and range wars were constant with range justice enforced and revenged by others

keeping the pot of murder boiling for the decade of the 1890‘s.
As they walked past a trio of cattlemen the men invited Henry and Samantha to their camp. It was early

 evening and the men fried fresh pork smelling like heaven cracking in the pan, last weeks biscuits and

fresh coffee to wash the meal down, which was the finest cuisine the pair had enjoyed since leaving

Alabama. It was also the first sign of human compassion to exist on the long arduous trail. These cracker

 cowboys, in their twenties had brothers and mothers like Samantha and Henry at home. Two of the

young men were brothers being Matt and Coleman Weeks. They said they had cousins in the Carolinas

 but their family had been cowboys in Florida a hundred years. The third man, Jacob Bartow quietly

made Samantha and Henry feel at home. Jacob, a skinny cowboy, real quiet but friendly had cousins

 that married Seminoles and he himself looked a bit Indian. They all looked about the same though,

 tall and thin with brown hair. Florida’s hellacious sun would keep her cowboys thin and faded, but

they were tougher than nails on the trail where as is folks like Samantha and Henry were being

burned alive on the trail during the hot days in the spring of 1865 in Arcadia. Samantha and Henry

were ecstatic to wash the meals gear (tin plates and iron pan) and enjoy a night by the fire listening

to the cowboys banter and stories. The next morning was a little sad goodbye for the pair who relished

 the security of being among friends but south they trekked.
After many months of wading, crawling, and jumping away from snakes the pair arrived in southwest

Florida’s Lee County near Luther’s Groves. A cool breeze is blowing from the west off the Gulf and the

 clouds are going by fast. The wind is a relief, blowing too hard for bugs to swarm. Henry is just taking

it all in. The moon looks ghostly full when not hiding behind the racing clouds and the little creek is swift

 as well with an occasional snap of silver mullet breaking the top. It is the fourth full moon of the year and

 a sweet, pungent aroma tells of a grove well into its flowering cycle. With their relief audible in their breath

 

 they realize safety, family and friends are near. Henry looks at his gaunt, sunburned mom and they hug

for the first time since the killing and whipping.
Soon Henry’s uncle had him working in his grove south of Ft. Myers with the operations ramrod, Captain

Wrightson. Henry loves this cow town of Ft. Myers. Not a Yankee in sight and life here was normal. There

are no highwaymen, no troops burning towns.
Of course you could go to town and see the daily pistol and or knife fights. Sporting bare-knuckle events

between friends and foe in the taverns and the streets or alleys were common entertainment and a fight is

 like a flower, it blooms and throws seeds amongst the observers who, after time will start their own

 broohaw. Too soon, Henry and his rye had trouble staying sober long enough to watch the town’s

sometimes lethal shenanigans or at least remember them.
As he aged Henry was very content to call Ft. Myers home. He enjoyed the backroom ladies occasionally

 but his money did not come easy. It would be more likely he would drink on First Street and hit the mash

with his acquaintances from town who worked for Jacob Summerlin out at his Punta Rassa ranch. This

ranch ranged from town southwest to today’s Iona and Punta Rassa. The docks at Punta Rassa shipped

35,000 to 40,000 head of cattle a year back in the 1830’s and 1840’s, Jacob Summerlin’s cattle was

scrubbed out of Lee County and surrounding local area. Henry worked 5 and ½ days each week, 12-16

hours a day. He was happy to wake because he was becoming a better grove man everyday. Henry

 learned fast in the farmyard and at school, even during the war and being on the road. Henry learned

fast and for that he was happy.
The union’s black troops rarely showed themselves outside of the fort during the war but they were

 non-existent until they were taken home after the war. They had to travel battalion strength as groups

 of two or four would disappear, presumably in the swamps under a Gator hole. The purpose of these

 troops were to harass confederate cattle shipments and they saw some action in Charlotte Harbor and

 north but south of Ft. Myers was a no-no and southeast to Immokalee was unheard of. Those cowboys

Samantha and Henry met east of Arcadia said they never saw any Union troops. The Seminoles kept

white man jumping when he was east of town, especially Union troops. I am sure Punta Gorda had plenty

of armed citizens as well but it was a hot spot with it’s dock suitable driving cattle on to large waiting ships.

 The Union Navy was a constant companion to the dock and the harbor was clearly a priority.
The Seminoles stayed away from town. They stayed in the swamps with the cattle and the freedom they

 took from the union troops a generation ago. The three Seminole Wars had caused many Indians to be

 forcefully moved west of the Mississippi River and forced some stubborn maverick driving braves and

families to anchor a central and south Florida tribe.

* The Seminoles occupied the southeastern United States for 12,000 years. They were finally granted

citizenship in 1934.
The Caloosahatchee River runs through Fort Myers and empties into Estero Bay. Henry worked in two

 groves for his uncles company. One on the bay and one up Moccasin Creek several miles south of town.

The company had a huge grove on Moccasin Creek and Henry helped manage pickers (use to be slaves)

and keeps the groves with the Captain. The company sent the slaves down to the groves before the war

with Wrightson commanding ship from Mobile Bay down to Ft. Myers and Estero. Uncle Luther and the

Captain felt that slaves would always be slaves and Henry agreed and treated them that way.
Ft. Myers was a dandy place all right and Henry was finally home. Much to Henry and his friends chagrin

the population of Florida was 25% emancipated slaves, which was a sore subject in Fort Myers in 1865.
* In pre Revolutionary War times many of the Irish-Scottish immigrants were in servitude to pay their

passage but were educated and well equipped to be the business and civic leaders many of them were

destined to become. Irish immigration began in the 17th century but they were soon to be the most

populous immigrant in the colonies excluding the English. In 1718 a large group of Irish -Scottish

immigrants came to America and the stream continued until the Revolutionary War and continued once

the war was over. Johnstone is a Scottish Surname and an Irish one as well. The first John was a

Norman land owner in the 12th century. His sons added the son or stone we are so familiar with today.

Thank you for your interest, the rest of the book is at CRACKERTAILS on this site.

If you would like to invest in Florida please contact me at Realty Investment Corporation where

I am a licensed real estate sales associate in Florida. 239-287-5177 or email colemanweeks@msn.com