by Michael Ross
The next morning at assembly, Duke addressed the command.
“Men, the Federals have occupied Green River, where we were a few weeks back. We are ordered to Bell’s Tavern, to support a group of Texans that got themselves in trouble. Also, the Federals are rebuilding the Bacon Creek railroad bridge to move supplies to their troops. Captain Morgan is looking for a few volunteers to help blow the bridge. Anyone interested, step forward.”
Will and about ten others stepped forward.
“Volunteers, report to Captain Morgan with your horses in two hours. Draw four days rations from the quartermaster. The rest of you we leave in three hours for Bell’s Tavern. We want to be ready to attack tomorrow morning. Whoever has a horse can ride it; the rest of you will have to march or ride one of the wagons if there’s room. We’ll be traveling all night. Dismissed.”
In gathering twilight, Will and the others followed Morgan to Bacon Creek. Reports said there was a large camp of Federals nearby, so surprise and secrecy were paramount. They split the group, with two riding in the front, two riding in the rear, and the rest of them bunched in two columns of fours. Whenever the front riders thought it safe, they proceeded at a trot. Will was glad that he had the Morgan horse, whose stamina at a trot made it possible for him to go for miles at a time. Will’s rear end was not faring as well as the horse, and he had a feeling he’d be quite sore the next day. From Bowling Green, it took them nearly fifteen hours riding to get near the bridge, with a few hours stop for rest and food. Morgan cautioned them against fires and needless chatter. They found a ravine about a mile from the bridge and rested there until dark. Some of the men played cards; others gathered black walnuts and persimmons. Will sat at a distance from the rest, reading his Bible by the failing light. He thought of the coming fight and read Psalm 144, “Blessed be the LORD my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight: My goodness, and my fortress; my high tower, and my deliverer; my shield, and he in whom I trust; who subdueth my people under me.”
As the moon rose, the men mounted and rode closer to the bridge. They dismounted again about a hundred yards away. Making their way down to the edge of the creek, they gathered dry wood and kindling. Will and one other sharpshooter stationed themselves in trees back from the creek, with orders to pick off any Federals who ventured from the guardhouse near the bridge in an attempt to stop the burning. Soon the men had a roaring blaze going. They relaxed on the creek bank roasting food, playing cards, and generally being unconcerned about a possible Federal attack. Two men came out of the guardhouse. Will fired, purposely hitting the ground just in front of the first man. He quickly reloaded, keeping his already loaded Springfield nearby in case the man tried to run. The dirt kicked up behind the other man as his comrade fired. Two other Confederates rushed to the entrance to the bridge, rifles aimed, urging the men to surrender. The men laid down, hands behind their heads. Ben Drake and Jesse quickly took them prisoner and hustled them to Captain Morgan. Will came down from his tree and walked close to where Morgan was questioning the men.
“How many Federals in your camp?”
“About two hundred in the stockade. Another brigade to the north,” answered the man, obviously scared.
“Which units?” queried Morgan, testing him.
“Ninety-first Illinois. Please, sir, I got a wife just had a baby. I want to live to see my son.”
Morgan patted the prisoner’s shoulder. “Don’t fear. You will see him, as far as it depends upon me. Tell the truth, answer my questions, and you’ll be set free.”
Will listened as Morgan questioned him further, then appearing to be satisfied, he said, “Go back to your commander. Tell him not to bother rebuilding this bridge. As many times as he builds it, I will torch it. Tell him further that within a week, I will burn him out of Woodsonville.”
Morgan then dispatched men to burn the stockade a half mile from the bridge, and others to set fires and bend the rails all along the line. Will went with the stockade group, to discourage Federal resistance with his long gun.
✳ ✳ ✳
Two weeks later, as they sat in camp at Bell’s Tavern, two things happened to raise Will’s spirits. First, Archie came into camp with a copy of Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, which showed a woodcut of the Bacon Bridge, charred and in ruins, with one Federal soldier looking on.
“Will! Look! We’re famous!” said Archie. “This here picture been printed in all the newspapers up North. They’ve heard of Morgan now!”
Will grinned. “We did a lot of good, with hardly anyone hurt. Maybe the Yankees will give up and go home!”
“By the way, this came for you,” said Archie, handing him a weather-stained letter.
Will opened it and found a letter from his parents, mostly in his mother’s handwriting. His hopes soared.
December 10, 1861
Dear Will,
I do not know if this will reach you. I’ve given it to a neighbor who says he has contacts among the Confederate troops. Your father is leaving soon to join his unit at Camp Hobson, a unit formed by your old boss, the storekeeper. I understand Dr. Simpson, Jenny’s uncle, will be in the same unit. May God keep you from each other, so that you do not face one another across a battlefield. Hiram, we hear, has joined the Third Ohio cavalry. All the men here are joining one side or the other. I’m not a very good farmer, so it will be a lean winter I’m afraid, while I learn. Only Lydia will be here with me, soon.
Albinia has gotten into trouble. She was arrested and imprisoned for two years for helping escaped slaves. I do not know what will become of her. The slave she was helping belonged to the Clays, so we cannot depend on them for any influence.
With Hiram off fighting, Julia has assumed much of the responsibility for their shipping company, trying to keep it out of war. I fear like many others, she will soon be forced to take sides.
Son, I know you are trying to follow God. I beg you, please come home as soon as ever you can. We need you. I love you, and nothing will change that.
Will recognized another few lines in his father’s hand.
Will, I know we don’t see eye to eye. But I forgive you for leaving, and you are always welcome back home. Remember, God is the only one worth following—not a man, a state, or a country. God uses men to accomplish His aims. Make sure to follow Him, and somehow, we’ll all come out well. Pray for us all. Christmas won’t be the same without you.
Love, Ma and Pa
Will folded the letter, putting it inside his Bible, and wept, filled with both relief and sorrow. Relief came from knowing his parents forgave him. Sorrow filled him when he thought of Albinia’s arrest, his father in the Federal army, and the home he had left.
FLY AWAY
December 1861
Julia sat through yet another ladies’ tea, hosted by her mother-in-law. She smiled, but inwardly gazed around at the group of gossiping rich older women, wanting nothing more than to escape. What use was all of this? Kirsten told her that these women had power, that they were the key to contracts for shipping, bending of tariffs, and other advantages mixing social and business connections. Julia thought they were terrible bores, and all much older than she. More than once she was tempted to say something controversial, just to bring life to the conversation. Unfortunately, she had to admit, these women did hold influence with their husbands, who in turn provided the bulk of the business. She gazed around the room, seeing the wife of John Gurley, Ohio congressman, Lucy Hayes, wife of Rutherford Hayes, the city attorney and Union general, as well as other luminaries. Kirsten gave her access to such people. Often she needed to remember that, and held her tongue. Joining a group, she heard them discussing the war. Almost everyone had a relative in the war, so the usual prohibition on women taking notice of the news had almost disappeared. Everyone wanted to know what was happening.
“My husband says that Lincoln will order a general advance soon, working up the Virginia peninsula to Richmond. Those rebels won’t last long,” said one woman.
&
nbsp; “Don’t be too sure,” said another. “My husband is in the Navy Department, and he heard Stanton say that the rebels have taken over ships that were being built in the Norfolk naval yard, even one made of iron! They might just sail right up the Potomac and attack Washington!”
“And no one thought they’d win Bull Run—but they did!”
“Balderdash! My husband says the New York bankers are building new foundries, and the Union will have as many cannon as the South does cotton balls. The war won’t last another year.”
“What about England?” Julia ventured. “There were those Confederate diplomats—what if they convinced England to enter on their side? England might regain the South that way.”
Kirsten joined the group and said patronizingly, “My dear, of course that won’t happen. The prime minister, Henry Temple, is no fool. He knows that the South can’t last, and has no wish for another war with the victor. Now that the Trent affair is over, he’ll simply watch North and South destroy each other and consolidate the Empire’s position around the globe. Look at what they’re doing in Mexico and China.”
Irritated at being spoken to like a child, Julia excused herself. “I must see to the refreshments.” As she walked away, a germ of an idea took hold in her mind. She engineered the steamship company being neutral. What if she could gain access to similar social circles in Lexington, or even Richmond? The military information these women dropped so casually might be of great value in the right hands. Women in Richmond or Lexington would be no different. If she pretended some sympathy for the South, maybe she could help Hiram and the Union with information. Maybe there was some use to these ladies’ teas after all. First, she needed to use influence on the Federal side. Ever since Albinia’s arrest, she wracked her brain looking for a way to help. Could she gain some influence that would help her sister? She visited Lexington, Louisville, and Frankfort representing the steamship company, anyway. Kentucky was not part of the Confederate States of America; it was still part of the Union. She smiled and thought of people to call on.
✳ ✳ ✳
Luther was frustrated. His plans for revenge had so far yielded nothing but sweat and a return to near slavery. The whites of the Ohio regiment treated him little better than the Clays had, except that he was free to leave. The regiment moved to Indiana, near Louisville, then to Tennessee. He’d dug latrines, hauled freight, and done any other dirty work the whites didn’t want to do. As they wintered near Jeffersonville, Luther was nervous that any of the whites might decide to claim a reward and send him back to Ashland and punishment. He was less than a hundred miles from his old home.
He bent over the horse’s foot he was shoeing. The commander, Lew Zahm, had recently discovered Luther’s talent for horses and blacksmithing, and put him to work at the forge. He was to draw wages from this skilled work, and he hoped to send some regularly back to Jemima.
One of the new officers, Lieutenant Colonel Doug Murray, came in, watching Luther work.
“That’s fine craftsmanship. What’s your name?”
“Luther,” he replied, surprised at the compliment.
“Well, Luther, I’ve a cannon wheel that broke a tire, and I need a pair of tongs. After you finish with that horse, do you think you could make those for me?”
“Sure. Just take a couple of days.”
“All right. I’ll send my orderly for them. He’s a big Swedish fellow, Corporal Johannsen. You’ve probably seen him. He’s hard to miss.”
Luther nodded. Perhaps doing this job might get him on friendly terms with the officer and lead to better work.
“Yes, sir. Just give me the wheel and I’ll have it for you Thursday.”
As John turned to leave, Luther noticed Sam quietly sneaking out of the barn. So far, they’d managed to ignore each other. He hoped it would last, until his opportunity came.
The wheel came, and Luther saw the iron tire was nearly worn through, besides having pits in the tire. He made a new one and riveted the ends together after heating the tire to expand it, and fit it around the wheel. He left it to cool until morning.
Luther looked up to see a huge Swede entering the shop.
“Luther?” the Swede said tentatively. “I’m Corporal Johannsen. I’ve come to pick up the tire and the tongs that were ordered.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll roll the tire over to the cannon, if you show me where.”
Hiram motioned and Luther followed, rolling the big wheel. When they arrived at the cannon, the axle was lopsided, resting on the ground. Luther sighed in disgust—he hadn’t brought a wagon jack.
“Now what? Guess I’ll go back to the stable, get the jack.”
“No need,” said Hiram. He looked around and saw a sturdy log next a tree. “Help me.” Hiram rolled the log over next to the axle, standing it upright. Hiram took off his uniform jacket, laying it over the cannon barrel. He motioned Luther to grab the axle.
Luther shook his head. This white man was crazy. Nobody was going to lift that axle. He bent over and grabbed it, prepared to jump back when it dropped on him, to avoid breaking a foot. Hiram squatted and wrapped his arms around the axle, leaving Luther to grip at the tip. “Now!” said Hiram. Hiram’s face showed the strain, but the cannon lifted from the ground. Luther put his back into it, and was able to slide the log over under the axle. In another few minutes, they had the wheel on. Slapping Luther on the back, Hiram grinned. “Good job! Thanks for your help.”
Luther grinned. “You crazy! I couldn’t have lifted that.”
Waking the next morning, Luther heard the trumpet blowing assembly and men running hurriedly. This didn’t feel like a drill. He quickly dressed and headed for the barn. Men were already mounted, moving south toward the river. An officer saw him and motioned him over. “Hitch these horses to the cannon. They’ll be needed!”
Luther hurried to obey. Soon all the cannon were moving toward the river, including the one he and Hiram had repaired the day before.
Luther followed the brigade on foot, arriving in time to take many of the horses to a corral area away from the river. Men were spread out all along the riverbank, behind cover. Shells from a Confederate gunboat in the river whistled overhead. Occasionally a canister shot burst and the cries of those hit were heard everywhere. The Federals fired at the gunners on the boat, but mostly with little effect. Then the Union cannon were brought to bear, and the boat started taking hits. The Federals cheered, but were soon occupied by a flanking force of Confederate cavalry trying to come in behind them on the riverbank. The gunnery officer gave a sharp order. A cannon turned on this new threat, and it was the one recently repaired. Just as it turned, the wheel struck a rock and a root sticking up out of the riverbank. When the gun fired, the wheel came off, and the iron tire split at the seam. The shot went wild, ricocheting and nearly hitting their own troops. The officer cursed, and brought another cannon to bear, leaving only one on the gunboat. In the chaos, the Confederate cavalry advanced, nearly gaining the area where the crippled gun lay useless.
In the end, the Federals prevailed. Luther lay in his bunk that night, after a visit from the officer who had ordered the wheel, berating him for his careless work, which had cost lives. He seethed. He knew he had fixed the wheel correctly. What could have happened? He thought … then he remembered. He’d left the wheel in the shop overnight. He hadn’t checked it the next morning. Sam!
✳ ✳ ✳
Albinia sat in the cell, crying softly so that her jailers would not hear. She prayed, but felt like God had abandoned her. Had her sins caught up to her, her lies and deceptions, and now He too had left her? David was gone. With her arrest, her dreams of helping slaves seemed shattered. Bitterly, she thought of the “help” she’d given Jackson—arrested, branded, given one hundred lashes, sent to the fields, and locked in shackles each night. That was his reward for helping Luther, for dreaming of a future in the North.
For now, the warden had taken pity on her, giving her a private cell. She knew that would not last. Sh
e also wondered at his motives. Could it be that the purpose was to break her will, to torture her more effectively? She’d been here what seemed like forever. There was a hard wooden bunk chained to the thick stone wall, just a platform on hinges. There was a stove in the corner, but no coal or wood to burn in it. Winter was here and nights were cold. So far, the mosquitoes and other insects still found their way in through the bars. There were no blankets or pillows. The high window, far above her reach, had bars spaced about four inches apart. As a woman alone, she would be at the mercy of male guards, should they decide to take liberties. There was a bucket in the corner to relieve herself. The only furniture other than the bed was a single wooden stool. The cell had two doors, one solid steel, the other with open bars. During the day the solid door was open, affording no privacy. There was the occasional rustle of rats or mice running across the cell, especially at night. A guard came twice a day to give some poor gruel and stale bread, and collect her bowl from the previous meal. The bowl and spoon were wooden, to afford no chance of making a weapon or tool to gain freedom. For their own protection, no women prisoners could join the exercise time. The cell was about six feet by four feet. The window faced north, getting minimal sunlight.
Occasionally, even in the middle of the night, she would hear keys in the lock, and the creaking of the door opening. A prison official or sheriff came to question her. They came in and sat on the stool, probing to see if she was now willing to tell more of her connections and association with the Underground Railroad, routes, or safe houses. Albinia was glad at these times that she had memorized as much of the Bible as she had, for this was the only answer she gave them. She repeatedly asked the guards for a Bible or a minister, but they just laughed and asked what a hussy like her would do with it.
She almost lost track of days. She got lice, and her clothes were dirty. Once they allowed her to go to a prison washtub, where she had to take off her garments in front of male guards, to wash them. Her hair went uncombed, and she gnawed her nails to keep them short. She often thought about who might have betrayed her. Then she would push the thought away, determined not to let revenge get a foothold.
