Dark Chaos

by Ginny Dye

  Nancy nodded eagerly. “It was glorious... especially if you have any desire to be on the battlefield.” She laughed merrily then sobered. “You know the meeting took place less than two weeks after the defeat at Chancellorsville. Many of the women present had sent family off to fight. Needless to say, with emotions running so high, it was difficult to find common ground.”

  “Many of them thought women’s rights should have no place in the meeting,” Abby guessed. When Nancy nodded, she just shook her head. “There must be a way to balance achieving rights for all people without diminishing the fight for emancipation.”

  “Some of the women didn’t even think that fighting for abolitionism had a place in the meeting.”

  “What?” Abby asked, astonished. “Surely they knew it would be on the agenda before they came - with Mrs. Stanton and Miss Anthony running it.”

  Nancy shrugged. “That didn’t seem to matter. Many of them felt our support of President Lincoln’s policies was the sole issue and all that mattered.”

  “You’re right,” Abby chuckled. “I’m sorry I missed the fireworks.” She settled back in her chair again. “Since I’ve been called here to work, I’m assuming it was brought under control at some point.”

  “The women who spoke did so with an eloquence I’ve never heard till then. The speeches were direct and impassioned. By the time it was all over, they had actually brought that divergent crowd to some measure of agreement. The resolutions they adopted pledged their support to the government as long as it continued to wage a war for freedom.” She paused then smiled. “Here’s where you come in, Abby. They also pledged to collect a million signatures for a petition asking Congress to pass the Thirteenth Amendment.”

  “A million signatures!” Abby exclaimed. The very number stunned her. She knew Charles Sumner had introduced a constitutional amendment forever banning slavery. The Emancipation Proclamation had been a first step, but it only banned slavery in the areas still in rebellion. This would be the step abolitionists had fought for from the beginning.

  “In light of the recent string of Confederate victories, it seems uncertain whether the measure can command the needed two-thirds majority in both Houses,” Nancy explained. “Charles Sumner has asked for our help.”

  Aunt Abby sat quietly well aware of the tremendous effort it would take to collect a million signatures from the North. “What can I do?”

  “We need as many women as possible who will lead groups of people to actually circulate the petitions. We have been making contacts with women as far away as California. We have a couple of women in Philadelphia, but none with the contacts you have.” Nancy leaned over and took another long sip of tea. “Will you help us?”

  “Of course,” Aunt Abby said instantly. “Surely you knew I would.”

  “Why, yes, but one always likes to be asked,” Nancy grinned and set her cup back down. “I don’t imagine you’ve heard from your young friend in Richmond? I know you had grown very fond of her.”

  Abby frowned. “I think of Carrie Cromwell every day. It breaks my heart to know that, but for this war, she would be living with me and going to medical school right now. It drives me crazy not to know whether she is all right. I have such mixed feelings when I hear of campaigns against Richmond. I so want this war to be over, and I realize the only sure way to abolish slavery is for us to win, but I ache to think she is trapped in that beleaguered city.” Her voice caught. “I love her like a daughter.”

  Nancy placed a sympathetic hand on her arm. “And Rose and Moses?” she asked. “You wrote me about them, too.”

  Aunt Abby smiled. “I just got a letter from Rose last week. She has a beautiful, healthy baby boy. His name is John Samuels.” Her brow creased. “She hasn’t heard from Moses since he headed up into Pennsylvania. He doesn’t even know he has a child.”

  “One more question,” Nancy continued. “Have you heard recently from that young journalist friend of yours?”

  “Matthew Justin?” Abby responded with a fond smile. “I received a short note from him just a few days ago. Of course, it was weeks old. He’s down in Mississippi covering the campaign to take Vicksburg.” She sighed. “I know we all have to do our part during these crazy times, but I can’t help hoping this will all be over soon.”

  “Don’t we all?” Nancy murmured. “Don’t we all?”

  “My turn to ask questions,” Abby interjected firmly. “How is Michael, that handsome son of yours?”

  “I’m doing just wonderful, Aunt Abby,” a strong, young voice boomed into the room. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

  Abby jumped up and wrapped her arms around the strapping six-footer grinning down at her. “Michael! It’s wonderful to see you,” she cried. “It’s also wonderful to have someone call me Aunt Abby again. I’m afraid all of the young people I care about have been swallowed up by this dreadful war.”

  “I’ve been lucky,” Michael said cheerfully, reaching down to pick up some cakes left on the tea tray.

  “Being a policeman in this violent town is hardly what I would call lucky,” Nancy sighed, rolling her eyes.

  “Now, Mother,” Michael said casually. “You’re the one who taught me to care about people and to fight against wrong. Surely you wouldn’t have me turn my back on my upbringing.”

  Abby looked at the young man she had known since he was a toddler. His dark eyes shone with confidence under his thatch of brown curls. “I’ve heard disturbing things about the New York police department,” she said tentatively, hoping she wouldn’t offend Michael but always curious to know the truth beyond headlines.

  “They’re probably all true,” Michael acknowledged willingly. “I’m afraid the department doesn’t have a stellar reputation. Until a few years ago, policemen were little more than political pawns, and appointments were being bought. Things are different now,” he said firmly.

  “Their hours are ridiculously long, and the pay is so pathetic most of the better policemen are leaving the force to seek better wages,” Nancy interjected. “That’s what he calls better.”

  Michael nodded easily. “It’s true. Wartime inflation is doing little to help, but the force has still reached a level of efficiency high above any we’ve known before.” He grinned and patted his mother on the head affectionately. “It’s a good thing I don’t need the city’s money.” He grew more serious. “New York City is my home. For all its faults, it’s the best place in the world to live. I’m determined to do my part to see it improve.”

  Michael sat down in one of the chairs, his muscular form dwarfing the dainty furniture. “I don’t intend to always be a policeman, Aunt Abby,” he said earnestly. “I have a college education. I intend to join Dad in his real estate business. But I couldn’t see hiding behind my parent’s money during the war. I’m one of the lucky ones - I have enough money to get out of fighting - but that doesn’t mean I can’t find a way to make a difference.” He shrugged, his cheerful grin once again lighting his handsome features. “Until then, my wonderful parents will just have to endure my profession. I’ll make them proud someday.”

  “We’re proud of you now!” Nancy protested. “We’re just so worried,” she said, a catch in her throat. “The city is becoming so violent.” She turned to Abby. “Riots are increasing. People are restless. Inflation is horrible.” She shook her head. “I just can’t get rid of the feeling that our whole city is about to explode. It’s probably silly...”

  Abby was silent, wondering whether she should tell Nancy what her driver, Paxton, had said to her. Not wanting to add more unnecessary worry, she decided to say nothing.

  “Enough about New York City,” Michael said firmly, reaching over to take the rest of the cakes. He grinned at his mother who was looking at him with lifted eyebrows. “I’m hungry,” he said, shoving them in. Then he turned back to Abby. “Tell us about Philadelphia. From all the reports I hear, the Rebel troops are uncomfortably close to your fair city. Did you come here to get away?” Then he threw back hi
s head and laughed heartily. “You don’t have to answer that question. The Aunt Abby I know would probably grab a rifle from the nearest soldier and race out to meet them herself. Am I right?” he teased.

  “If I thought there was any real reason for concern, I wouldn’t have come,” Abby admitted with a smile. “Michael, it’s so good to be with you. It simply does my heart good to be around young people.” Even if it does make me miss Carrie, Rose, Moses, and Matthew more, she added silently.

  Nancy leaned forward. “Do tell us more about the Rebel troops. I just can’t believe they are invading Pennsylvania.”

  “Invading Pennsylvania might be stating it a little strongly,” Abby replied. “So far there has been no fighting. General Lee just seems to be roaming around, getting food and supplies for his troops. General Hooker is following him. It doesn’t seem to me that either of them is eager for a fight.”

  “But so close to your city,” Nancy protested.

  Abby shrugged. “I’ve talked to a lot of people. I agree with them that Lee is not foolish enough to attack Philadelphia. He knows he could never hope to win so far from his base of supplies. His army simply isn’t strong enough. No, there may be a battle yet, but it won’t be in Philadelphia.” She pushed down the feeling of discomfort she had been feeling since she entered New York City. Why did it continue to persist?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Moses was answering a summons to Captain Jones tent when an angry voice erupted into the sweltering night.

  “Don’t you know those blacks are nothing but trouble? I don’t know whose idea it was to put uniforms on those woolly-headed creatures, but it’s surely not one I support.”

  Moses frowned as he recognized Lieutenant O’Leery’s voice. It was no secret the raucous Irishman had no use for black soldiers. He went out of his way to make life miserable for the men who had to fight for him. Since it was impossible for Moses to be commissioned as an officer because he was black, O'Leary was the commanding officer. Captain Jones had made it clear Moses was the actual leader of the black soldiers, but O’Leery’s resentment was growing.

  “I’m not interested in your support of the idea,” Captain Jones said coldly. “I frankly could not care less what your personal opinion of the situation is. All I’m interested in is your obeying my orders.”

  Moses could hear him shuffling papers and wondered whether he should disappear for a little while. O'Leary would most likely not appreciate knowing one of the men he had the misfortune to lead had heard him being bawled out by his commander. Captain Jones’ next words held Moses where he was.

  “General Lee will make one final attack tomorrow. He may have won the battle two days ago, but today was a clear defeat for him. Lee isn’t used to losing - he will try again, but he only has the strength for one more attempt. General Meade believes he will strike hard at the center since he wasn’t successful in taking either flank today.” Captain Jones paused, and Moses leaned in to listen. “I want Moses and his men in the right of the defense. They are crackerjack shots, and I know they’ll stand their ground.”

  “You want me to lead that bunch of woolly-heads against Lee’s strongest attack?” O'Leary protested. “When are you going to give me leadership of white men again?” His voice was bitter. “It’s getting to the point where a black man is considered better than a white man.”

  “That will be enough!” Captain Jones snapped. “If you want to maintain your command of anyone, you will do as I order and do it right.” His voice softened slightly. “I don’t know why you have so much hatred in you, Lieutenant. It’s not like your own people haven’t struggled to fit into American society. I would think you would have sympathy for the black condition.”

  “I just can’t seem to drum up any sympathy when it’s my own countrymen who are being slaughtered to try to help these woolly-heads be free. It’s not our fight!”

  “I will not have you call them woolly-heads one more time,” Captain Jones snapped. “As far as I’m concerned, all it does is show your ignorance. If I had my way, the black troops would have black commanders, but no one has asked my opinion.” He paused, then continued, his voice clipped. “And in case you have forgotten, this war is not being fought to free the slaves. It is being fought to save the Union. Lincoln brought blacks into the army to help. I would think you would welcome their presence.”

  “Why are you so much in favor of them?” O'Leary asked suddenly, his voice deeply suspicious.

  “Because they’re people,” Captain Jones responded promptly. “Just like you and me. I could say I feel sorry for them because they’ve suffered so much, and even though I do, that’s not why I respect them. Every black soldier I have worked with has been a good man. They are committed to winning this war, and they do everything I ask them without questioning.”

  “What’s the connection with you and that Moses fellow?” O'Leary pressed.

  There was a brief pause. “Moses is a fine man, and he’s a good soldier. He also saved my life. I’ll never forget that.”

  Moses frowned. He appreciated Captain Jones’ words, but he also knew they would only serve to make O'Leary more antagonistic toward him. Moses had managed to hold his temper in check so far. He hoped he could continue to do so.

  The door to the tent flapped back suddenly, and O'Leary strode out. He cast a baleful look in Moses’ direction but didn’t say anything. Moses watched the angry man as he stalked off to his own tent. Moses was thoughtful as he entered the captain’s tent.

  “You hear much of that?” Captain Jones asked.

  “Enough.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Moses. It’s going to take time for some of the men to accept black soldiers.”

  “We don’t have any illusions about how people see us,” Moses responded evenly. “We realize the contempt and hatred our “liberators” hold for us,” he said sardonically, then smiled. “I guess Frederick Douglas said it best for us.” He paused before reciting what he had memorized to share with his men.

  “Once let the black man get upon his person the brass letter, U.S. ; let him get an eagle on his button and a musket on his shoulder and bullets in his pocket, and there is no power on earth which can deny that he has earned the right to citizenship in the United States.”

  Moses smiled. “Me and my men figure that when we put on that United States uniform we at last had a country. We can put up with a lot for that.”

  “Good,” Captain Jones said briskly. “You’ve got a big job ahead of you tomorrow.” He stared down at his papers. “I don’t know that either of our armies actually intend to fight here at Gettysburg, but now that we’re here it’s time to turn the table on the Rebels. The few reports filtering through from Vicksburg say things are going well there. It’s time for the Army of the Potomac to claim a solid victory. This is our chance.”

  “General Meade seems willing to press the advantage,” Moses observed.

  “Exactly,” Captain Jones responded with relief. “Hooker was a good man, but he just didn’t seem able to grab what we needed. The Union doesn’t need any more reports like the one they got after Chancellorsville.”

  “We seem to be in a better position this time.”

  “We have a fine defensive position,” Captain Jones agreed. “General Lee seems willing to take the offensive, which is fine. We have such a strong position it would be foolhardy to relinquish it. No, I’m afraid General Lee will discover how we felt at Fredericksburg.”

  Moses winced. He had heard the reports of Fredericksburg - the thousands of Union soldiers that had been slaughtered trying to storm an impregnable Rebel defense. “I don’t wish that on anyone,” he muttered.

  “Nor I, but if it’s going to happen, I’d much rather be on this side of it,” Captain Jones said grimly.

  Moses was already wiping sweat from his face as the morning sun exploded onto the day. Dust and smoke from the previous day’s battle lingered in the air, and there was the stench of decaying bodies. He gazed right and saw wave
after wave of blue uniforms spread across Cemetery Ridge. The left presented the same picture. Sunlight glinted off the artillery backing them up. The whole line was protected by stone walls, piled fence rails, and hastily erected breastworks.

  Moses swung his gaze down the hill they were fighting to hold. He scowled as he took in the half mile of open, slanting fields the Rebels would have to cross to get to them. The Federals had a clear range of fire. There was nothing to offer protection to the men who would soon be surging across it. Did they really think they could take such a formidable position?

  Moses turned away, leaned against the stone wall, and munched hungrily on the hardtack he had pulled from his haversack. His gut told him the Confederate attack wasn’t coming anytime soon. He was content to let his mind roam for a while. As usual, it turned immediately to Rose. And John. A smile played across his lips as he tried to envision his little son. The letter informing him of his birth had come just ten days before. Now, more than ever, he wanted this war to be over. The ache of missing Rose was now multiplied by the agony of having a child he had never seen.

  “Thinkin’ bout that boy of yours again?”

  Moses turned to Pompey. “How’d you know?”

  “You got that silly grin on again. Ain’t nothin’ but that little boy of yours could make a man smile on a day like today.” Pompey squinted over the wall. “How long you figure we got to wait before the devil breaks loose ‘round here?”

  Moses shrugged. “I don’t see any movement down there. It could be a long day.”

  “I reckon every day done been a long one,” Pompey grunted. “We got less than sixty men left out of near ninety. Talkin’ bout dying and watchin’ yer friends die sho do be diff’rent things.” He gazed off into the distance but then brightened. “But I figure this here war ain’t gonna go on forever. I reckon we gonna turn some things around this summer, sho nuff.”