Across the Great Divide

by Michael Ross

  Franklin limped over to them. “Woman, ye worry too much. I’ll be fine. I wouldn’t mind another hand, mind ye, if you’re aiming to grow anything beyond a garden. At least until I’m totally well. But getting a crop planted and a house built in a month or two could be a tough proposition.”

  Albinia hoped for better, but it matched her own views of the prospects. “Well, we lost a lot in Kentucky. About nine thousand dollars. I have about twenty-five thousand left, from David. Because of the Homestead Act, people want to move west and escape the war. We can get this place very reasonably, though riverfront property is harder to come by—we need a dock if we’re to help the slaves crossing the river or coming by steamboat. This place seems to be what’s available on the river. The problem is finding men to help—they’re all off fighting. However, the Negroes aren’t. Suppose we ask the African Methodist church for help and pay Negroes the same as we would white people? Do you think we’d find enough?”

  Franklin scratched the gray stubble of a beard and chuckled. “Mrs. Horner, I think you’d be turning men away—you’d have so many that wanted to work.”

  “Good! Then let’s get started!”

  Over the next few weeks, into the beginning of summer, Albinia watched as the farm transformed. Word in the community spread about her imprisonment in Kentucky, and many in the Georgetown black neighborhood of Madison responded with help. She stayed at nearby Bachman House, with Franklin and Mabel, until they constructed a house of their own. They bought horses, mules, oxen, wagons, and farming tools.

  The house took shape, and they were soon able to move, reducing their expenses.

  One morning, Albinia awoke early. Going out into the farmyard, she saw Franklin feeding chickens. “Franklin! I’m going into town. Can you supervise for a few hours? I may be gone until evening.”

  “Sure, Mrs. Horner—but shouldn’t I send someone with you?”

  “No, it’s all right. I have a lantern and my old friends,” she said, raising a double barrel derringer and a short shotgun for him to see. “Don’t worry unless I’m not back by morning.”

  She drove the two miles into town, going to the Presbyterian Church on Broadway. She tipped a young Negro boy to watch her horse and wagon, going inside the church. She looked around hesitantly, and then spotted what appeared to be the minister coming into the sanctuary from the rear.

  “Excuse me, sir. I’m new in the community. I’m trying to help with the plight of slaves and the Negro population here. I wonder….”

  The cleric looked annoyed. “Yes, yes, I think I’ve heard of you. You’re the one who bought a farm to the east, from Kentucky.”

  “Yes, sir, and I was wondering if your church might be willing to help.”

  The minister sighed. “Young woman, you’ll find not everyone around here is sympathetic with your views. Our community has had much trouble over slaves in the past two decades. This church has split over the issue. We want no more trouble. I do not believe I can be of help to you. You might try the African Methodist Episcopal group. Mostly black, I’m afraid, but more inclined toward your views.”

  “They are already helping. I thought surely some of the white folk, in a free state, might….”

  “Not here,” he cut her off. “You might try up in Lancaster. Oh, there are those in the white community with your views, but you’ll have to seek them out. I believe there’s a group in Lancaster called the Neil’s Creek Antislavery Baptist Church. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  Albinia knew she was dismissed. She drove back to her new home, discouraged. This is supposed to be a free state, she thought. How many like that minister were there?

  Her new house was a small affair—one story and four rooms, with a center chimney of local stone. The white clapboard sides and black shutters gave a clean but austere appearance. She decided not to waste money on luxuries except for glass windows. The wood still smelled new. There was a front porch, with rocking chairs. The kitchen and a small parlor were at the front of the house, with two bedrooms separated by a small hallway at the back. The house was about a hundred yards from the riverbank, enough to be safe in most floods, given the slope down to the river.

  She woke the next morning and found that Mabel had already made coffee. She took a cup and wandered out to one of the rockers on the porch. No workers had arrived yet. After sitting for a moment, she noticed what appeared to be a piece of paper nailed to the railing of the porch. Curious, she walked over and pulled it loose, seeing writing on it.

  GO HOME!—The Knights of the Golden Circle

  Albinia’s face turned white, then red with anger. How could they! She wondered if her visit to the minister had anything to do with this.

  She hurried and dressed. “Franklin, this time I do want you to come. Please have Mabel tell the workers not to come today. There may be trouble.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Franklin said. “But where are we going?”

  “Lancaster.”

  ✳ ✳ ✳

  May 1862

  Julia felt heartsick after she read the casualty list from Shiloh. So many young men, some whose names she recognized. At least Will’s name was not on the list, or Hiram’s. From the account of the battle, her information had been correct. If only General Thomas had listened. She didn’t know where Will was, or if he had been in the battle—she hoped not. She was determined that the Federals should win the war, and quickly. Many lives might be saved, and the demon slavery defeated. The Johannsens’ shipping company could legitimately claim to be in no position to help the Confederates, since New Orleans had fallen. The Union mostly controlled the Ohio and Mississippi rivers. Shipping for the Federals and normal business along the rivers was now the only option.

  For a few months, she returned to Cincinnati. There seemed little else she could do. Then she received a letter from Will, telling of the battle of Shiloh, and his desire to come home. However, Will told her that shortly after the battle, the Confederate Conscription act passed. It meant that all able-bodied men between seventeen and seventy in the Confederate army must serve the duration of the war or risk execution as a deserter, unless the soldier owned twenty or more slaves. Will told of seeing General Bragg order to shoot those young men who attempted to return home. There would be no escape for him. Will did not say where he was.

  She cried for him. Oh, the evil of this war! Why could the South not see that slavery had to end? Why could the North not see that fighting was not the answer—though in truth, she acknowledged, the South fired the first shots. Mostly, why could people not see that hate, bitterness, and selfishness were the real issues? What could she do? Perhaps she had given up too easily. Perhaps she could yet provide information that would be instrumental in hastening the conclusion of the war.

  It was July now, and the heat had begun in earnest. A servant entered and gave her an envelope on a tray. Tearing it open, she found a letter from General Thomas, telling her he regretted not taking advantage of her information in March, and to please contact him should she have anything further. Julia exulted—now she could make a difference. If only she could discover something worthwhile of the rebel battle plans. She must travel to where the Confederate commanders were, or at least their wives. She could use the excuse of looking for Will.

  Kirsten disapproved of her traveling again. “Really, my dear, you take altogether too many risks! If you’re going to run the company, stay here and run it. There’s a war on! Telegraph communication to run a business is not enough. Of course, I could do it for you, if you’d like.”

  “No thank you, Mama Kirsten. I know you are far too busy with your charity events. Besides, that is what I have managers for, to attend to the day to day, and a good accounting firm to watch them. In spite of the war, we’ve been profitable. Hiram will be home as soon as it is over, please God may it be soon! When it does end, the South will need to rebuild. That will take a great deal of money and materials. Keeping contacts in the South will pay off later. And that is w
hat I intend to do. I understand General Bragg is somewhere in Mississippi, and the rail lines there are open. I intend to go there and see what news I can find of my brother.”

  “Stuff and nonsense! You’ll get yourself killed.”

  “Perhaps—but that wouldn’t bother you much, would it? I’m sure you’d pick out another wife for Hiram more to your liking. But according to my last letter, Hiram is in the South also—I may be able to see or get news of both. A wife has a right to visit her husband.” She turned and left, with Kirsten spluttering behind her.

  ✳ ✳ ✳

  After several days she arrived in Memphis, and discovered that Will was likely in Mississippi, along with General Bragg. She caught a train to Tupelo, figuring Bragg’s headquarters would be the most likely place to look for information, both about the Confederate’s movements and Morgan’s location with Will. She disembarked the train, entered a hotel, and addressed the desk clerk.

  “Excuse me, sir, but can you direct me to General Bragg’s headquarters? I need to speak with one of the officers concerning my brother.”

  “Bless you miss, I expect the general is rather busy. Half of his troops moved out in the last few days, on the train. I hear they’re goin’ to Mobile, Atlanta, and Chattanooga. Prob’ly all be gone by tomorrow.”

  “Really? Well, perhaps you know of Colonel Morgan? My brother serves under him.”

  “Too late for them too. They are gone north, and I hear the Federals are chasing them. If your brother’s with Morgan, I wouldn’t stick around here. Federals may come in from the south, Alabama, any time.”

  “I see. Well, thank you, sir. I suppose I must make my way north, then. But General Bragg’s headquarters…?”

  “Well, down the main street and left on Spring Street. You’ll see the activity.”

  Julia approached the headquarters, but hesitated about going in. Instead, she turned to a line of tents nearby.

  The young guard stopped her. “Halt! I’m sorry, but you need a pass to go further, ma’am.”

  Julia thought a moment and assumed her most piteous look. “But my brother! I need to see him! My mother died, and I want to tell him in person. It’s been months since we’ve seen him. I’ve traveled all this way from Kentucky. Can’t you at least let me look for him?”

  “What’s your brother’s name and unit?”

  “Will Crump. First Mississippi,” she said, taking a chance.

  “Hmm, well, there is still some of them here, I reckon. I s’pose it can’t do any harm, you bein’ a woman and all, lookin’ for him. But you gotta be quick. An officer catches me lettin’ you in, ol’ Bragg is apt to shoot me.”

  “Bless you,” Julia moved forward and gave the boy a quick peck on the cheek. She moved quickly past before another guard challenged her, or the boy changed his mind.

  A woman moving through the camp did attract some attention, but Julia walked quickly with purpose, as though she knew where she was going, to avoid questions. A regimental flag flew in front of a larger tent, with no one seemingly about. She hesitated, then approached, figuring she could always play dumb and lost if asked.

  No one was in the command tent. The flaps were open wide. A table and chairs were just inside, with what looked like a map of Kentucky spread out on it. A quick glance showed troop movements. Impulsively, she took the paperweights off the map and folded it up. There was no time for real concealment, so she took off a shoe and stuck it inside. She moved quickly away, heading for the opposite side of the camp. No one will stop me leaving, she reasoned. And if I leave by another way, the boy won’t get in trouble … or ask me questions, she thought.

  She moved quickly, not looking right or left. Ahead, a group of soldiers lounged around a fire. Not wanting to arouse suspicion, she kept walking straight ahead.

  “Hey, pretty lady! Us soldiers ain’t seen a belle for a while. Can’t you stop and talk with us?” called out a private.

  Julia’s throat went dry. She knew she had to respond in some fashion. Her mother always told her ‘You catch more flies with honey than vinegar,’ so she put on a sweet face and turned toward them.

  “You are too kind, sir. However, I am seeking my brother, with a message of some importance, and I must find him. I fear he may have left north already. I must hurry in case he is still here.”

  “Well, most of company D is off drillin’. Do you know which company your brother’s in?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” she lied. “I’m mostly ignorant of military things, just a poor woman, you know. Now if you’ll excuse me….”

  Another of the men got up and came toward her. “Hold on, there missy. Your brother might be in that drillin’ group, and if you go, you’ll plumb miss him. Anyway, I’d like to see your pass—ain’t likely ol’ Bragg or his officers would let you prowl through here without one.”

  “I already showed my pass to the guard. Now, really, I’ve tried to be nice, but I must insist on leaving.”

  “You mean this guard?” said an officer coming up behind her. Julia whirled and saw the guard who had admitted her to the camp. The officer had a pistol pointed at the guard.

  “Private, arrest this woman! Take her to General Bragg—my authority.”

  “Yes, sir, Colonel!”

  Julia’s heart sank. They caught her. What would happen to her now? She must think quickly, and pray.

  ✳ ✳ ✳

  June 1862

  Albinia arrived in Lancaster, and Franklin pulled the wagon up to the church. They heard hammering noises and saw a young man, sleeves rolled up, in denim trousers, working on the roof of the church.

  “Hello! Sir? Can you tell me where to find the minister?”

  The young man paused hammering and smiled politely, wiping his brow with a handkerchief, moving back a shock of curly brown hair. “I’m the minister. How can I help you?”

  “Well, I, ah … could we talk for a few minutes? Down here?”

  The minister’s smile grew broader, and he climbed down a ladder. “All right, now we’re on the same level.”

  “Thank you, sir. I am Mrs. Albinia Horner, and this is my hired hand Franklin. I’ve recently moved to the area from Kentucky. I have a farm down at Lonesome Hollow, on the river.”

  “Welcome to Indiana. Are you planning to attend church here?” His piercing green eyes lit with curiosity.

  “Well, no. A pastor in Madison told me about your church. You are an antislavery congregation?”

  “Yes, we are very opposed to slavery. What’s your interest?”

  “You see, I’ve been involved with the Underground Railroad in the past. You could ask John Rankin about me. I went to prison for a short while in Kentucky for helping slaves. I decided to relocate to Indiana. I’m trying to get the support of churches for helping escaped slaves make a new life.”

  “I’m Peter Jenkins. Nice to make your acquaintance. Our church has been quite involved in doing just the sort of thing you propose, Mrs. Horner.” He shook hands with Franklin, and Albinia noticed muscles rippling. He really was quite handsome—she pushed the thought away.

  “I’ve helped slaves over the border and on to stations in the past. My farm was burned down in Kentucky. I’ve started to receive threats here. Who are the Knights of the Golden Circle?”

  Peter’s brow creased. “If you’ve already run into them, you’d better brace for trouble. It’s a group that supports slavery and keeping blacks in their place. They dislike the work we do with educating blacks and helping slaves.”

  “If I bring escaping slaves to you, can I trust you to help them?”

  “Yes, we’ll do the best we can. With the war on, slave catchers aren’t coming as much. We help free and slave to either make a life here or get to Canada, as they wish. But what does your husband think of all this?”

  “Oh. I’m a widow. My husband died in the Baltimore riots. He was a friend of Mr. Garrison.”

  “I see. My condolences on your loss. Well, if you’ll forgive me, I will verify what you�
��ve told me. I’ll be in touch. It was nice to have met you, Mrs. Horner.”

  “Thank you! I appreciate it. I’ll look forward to hearing from you. My contacts in Kentucky may be of some use.”

  Albinia mounted the wagon. As Franklin drove home, she couldn’t get the young minister out of her mind.

  YOU CAN’T GO HOME AGAIN

  July 1862

  Will rode onto the grounds of Cumberland University in Lebanon, Tennessee, discouraged and disheartened. It was the mid-July. He began to doubt the point of fighting. The dark and the sheets of rain reflected his mood. He wasn’t the only one who thought of quitting after Shiloh, but within days, the Confederate conscription law eliminated that possibility. He was stuck for the next two years at least. Their enlistment time extended to three years.

  His only cause for hope was the letter he’d received. He had no idea how it could have found him—the Raiders had been on the move almost constantly. The letter was from Jenny.

  April 20, 1862

  Dear Will,

  I hope you may forgive me, and receive this letter. Joe and I have broken off our arrangement. I’ve realized how much I care for you. My uncle lost an arm. He is no longer in the army. He’s told me some of the terrible things you must have endured. I know now that you were never fighting for slavery, only for honor. This terrible war is ruining so many lives. When I heard that you were at Shiloh, I read the casualty lists and realized how devastated I would have been if you’d died.

  I know you are committed now until the end of the war. I pray it may come soon. If ever you are near, please come and see me, if you will forgive me.

  With great affection,

  Jenny Morton

  Will remembered his father’s words about the fickleness of young women and wondered whether to be encouraged. He’d just about closed that wound, but the memories of the carnage at Shiloh, the stacks of feet, arms, and legs outside the hospital when he’d visited Duke left him needing hope. Archie was gone. How many more friends would die? He’d heard that over one thousand seven hundred had died in the battle.