by: Marty Chrisman
They called her the Swamp Witch. She was local legend in Hazzard County. An urban legend. And she intended to keep it that way. It kept people out of the swamp. It kept them from looking for her to find out if she was really real. She was a ghost story told over the camp fires at night and under the covers at sleep overs.
She slipped out of the dense foliage and walked over to where the young man was lying on the ground. He looked dead but as she reached out and touched her fingertips to the side of his neck, she felt a pulse. It was weak but it was still there. And as long as he was still alive, she would do everything in her power to keep him that way until someone found him.
She pulled the hunting knife from the sheaf strapped to her leg and cut the ropes binding his hands and feet. She started to move him onto his back until she saw the condition his back was in. Wisely, she decided to leave him lying on his side. She knew that she couldn’t move him, he was too heavy and it was too dangerous to try anyway. She would have to care for him here. But she knew the swamp like the back of her hand and she knew where to find the roots, the herbs and other things she needed to make her medicines. Medicines that were over two hundred years old. Medicines she would need to help him stay alive long enough for help to arrive.
The immediate task at hand was to stop the bleeding from the knife wound in his stomach. She had been hiding watching the men as they broke up camp and she had seen the one man return to the site and stab him. Using her knife, she cut off what remained of his shirt and pressed it tightly against the bleeding wound. Using her teeth to tear a thinner strip, she used it to tie the makeshift bandage in place. It would control the bleeding long enough for her make a poultice that would stop the bleeding and pack the wound. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much she could do if he was bleeding inside other then keep him as comfortable as possible until help arrived.
She removed the heavy cape she was wearing and used it as a blanket to cover him. Opening the bag she carried with her, she took out a large metal bowl and went into the swamp to gather the herbs and other things she would need to make her medicines. When she returned, she checked his condition. He seemed to be resting quietly and was breathing a little easier but his pulse was still weak.
With a practiced hand, she quickly made the poultice for his stomach since that was the most serious wound and needed treated immediately before he lost any more blood. She gently packed the wound with the mixture, covering it lightly with wet leaves to keep it moist. Next she prepared a suave for his other wounds. With a gentle touch, she spread the suave over the welts on his back and into the open wounds. Even in his unconscious state, his body quivered when she touched the welts and severely torn flesh on his back.
Finished tending to the most serious injuries, she looked at him with a practiced eye, noting his other injuries. He had numerous bruises and some mild second degree burns on the left side of his face and his left shoulder. His mouth was busted open with both lips split and swollen and there was an ugly red welt that had broken the skin around his throat where he had been viciously choked. He was lucky to be alive. If she hadn’t been watching and come to his aide as soon as she possibly could, the knife wound would have been enough to kill him.
She walked a short distance away to a hidden spring and filled the bowl with water, carrying it back to the injured man. Sitting down beside him on the ground, cross legged Indian style, she gently dipped her fingers in the water and rubbed her fingertips across his lips, moistening them and letting a few drops drip into his parched mouth. She repeated the same motion several times until the water was gone. He was severely dehydrated and this was one way to get some much needed water back into him. When the bowl was empty, she returned to the spring and filled the bowl once more. This time, she used the water to gently clean his other wounds.
When she was finished, she gently picked up one hand and then the other and began massaging his fingers and palms to get the circulation going again. His skin was dry and hot, another sign of severe dehydration. In a little while she would give him some more water but not just yet. She let her eyes linger on his face momentarily. In spite of the mild burns and the heavy bruising on one side of his face, she could see that he was a handsome young man. No matter what he had done to the other men who had brought him here, he didn’t deserve what they had done to him.
She lifted her head and listened to the sounds of the swamp. Hearing nothing unusual, she turned her attention back to the man. She gently pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. He was starting to run a slight fever but it wasn’t serious enough to worry about yet. He flinched and tried to move away from her touch because it hurt but not because she was the one who had hurt him.
She went back into the swamp and gathered some more herbs. This time she would make up a medicine that would help with his pain. Even though he was unconscious, she sensed that he was still in pain. And as long as she had it in her power to ease his pain then she would, using the knowledge and the medicine from ancient times. She gave him some more water giving it to him the same way she did before. When she had finished, she gently used the same method to give him the medicine she had made for his pain. It didn’t take long for it to take effect and the change was noticeable. He quieted down and seemed to relax, his breathing growing slow and easy. When she checked his pulse again, it seemed a little stronger than it had been before. She smiled the medicine was beginning to work.
When she was confident that it was safe to leave him alone for awhile, she left for a time and then returned to his side. She had made another fire ring closer to where he lay and now she checked to make sure the fire was burning brightly so he would stay warm. In his weakened condition, a chill could cause pneumonia. As darkness fell, she kept a close eye on him and on the night that surrounded them. The gators came out on land at night. The fire should keep them away but she still kept a watchful eye. Towards dawn, her eyes grew heavy and she dozed off. Soon she was sleeping soundly and yet aware of everything going on around her. Always alert even when she was sleeping, that was the Cherokee way.
Luke slowly opened his eyes, not much just a crack. It was dark, it was cold and it hurt. Everything hurt so much. He tried to move but his body refused to respond. His head throbbed and he felt dizzy and lightheaded. He was surprised to discover that he was still alive. Somehow he had gotten untied and was lying on the ground in front of a roaring fire. That didn’t make any sense but he was too tired to think about it right now. His mind seemed strangely detached somehow and he felt as if he’d been drugged but in a good way, not a bad way.
He saw someone leaning against the tree where he had been tied, apparently sleeping. “Bo…” he whispered in a ragged voice. The figure shifted positions and turned their head slightly, facing him. Luke was shocked to find himself starting into the face of a woman about his age. He couldn’t make out her features clearly in the darkness but he saw the long hair that curled softly around her face and half way down her back. Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, Luke closed his eyelids and drifted off to sleep.