by Ginny Dye
Another shot exploded into the water near them and sent a spray of water cascading over the deck.
“If we take a direct hit, this barge is gonna sink,” Peter said anxiously.
Matthew gritted his teeth but didn’t answer. The thick cover of the woods completely hid the Rebel position. Even if he had a rifle, it would do no good. The tugboat was at the gunners’ mercy.
A high shrieking whistle told him another round was in the air. He ducked just as the boat shuddered, then lurched to one side.
“We’re hit!” a crew member cried. “There’s a hole in the port side. We’re taking on water, Captain.”
Another shot exploded seconds later. The boat lurched again violently before the engines died.
“I’m afraid the game’s up,” the captain said grimly.
“Don’t give up now,” Peter cried. “I have a nice soft bed waiting for me. Can’t you get some life into this baby?”
“They’ll probably just sink the boat and send you on your way,” the captain replied, shaking his head. “Me and my crew probably have some beds waiting in a Yankee prison. They don’t take to journalists much, though. You’ll be on your way home soon.” He shook his head. “If I thought we could take them, I’d fight till the death. But we’re not a fighting ship. I thought we were just shipping some journalists north. I’m not going to get all my men killed.” Solemnly, he hoisted the white flag of surrender.
Matthew listened with a sinking heart and tried to take hope from the captain’s belief they would be released. He could wait a few more days for Aunt Abby’s cooking.
Seconds later a swarm of Rebel soldiers burst from the woods and tumbled down the bank into their waiting boats. Soon the tilting tugboat was surrounded.
The captain and his crew were loaded into one of the boats; then the commanding officer for the Rebels turned to Matthew. “And who do we have here?” he asked cockily.
“We are Northern journalists,” Matthew responded pleasantly, albeit a bit stilted. “We will find another way to return to our newspapers.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” the lieutenant said genially, his hard eyes belying his pleasant tone.
“Why not?” Peter asked.
“I’m afraid your government is holding some rather important prisoners right now. But they are fairly open to prisoner exchanges. I reckon you boys ought to be worth something to the Yankees.”
“But we’re not soldiers,” Matthew protested. “We’re civilians.”
“Then you shouldn’t be hanging around in war zones,” the lieutenant snapped, all pretense of geniality gone. He turned to his men. “Guard these men. We have a long trip ahead of us. I think there are some special places waiting for them in Richmond.”
He turned to the group staring at him. “Ever heard of Libby Prison?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Carrie met the courier at the door to her hospital ward.
“Please deliver this to the doctor in charge,” the youthful courier said urgently.
Carrie wanted to ask questions but silently reached for the sheet of paper he was holding. She had heard bells ringing in the city, their wild clanging reaching up to the heights of Chimborazo. What was happening now?
Dr. Wild appeared beside her. “What is it?”
Carrie handed him the sheet of paper. “This was just delivered. The courier said it was very urgent.”
Dr. Wild frowned, opened it and began to read. “TO ARMS! REMEMBER NEW ORLEANS! Richmond is now in your hands. Let it not fall under the rule of another BUTLER. Rally, then, to your officers tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, on BROAD Street, in front of the City Hall.”
“There are no military men here,” Carrie said sharply.
“There’s an addendum from the mayor.” Dr. Wild sighed. “I have instructions to send whatever soldiers are able.”
Carrie spun around and looked at the rows of wounded soldiers staring at them and straining to hear the latest news. “They’re not going anywhere!” she cried.
Dr. Wild looked grim. “We’ll let that be their choice. They might feel rather strongly about being in a Union-occupied city. The reports coming in are not good. Union cavalry is once more doing their mischief. Evidently they are trying our tactics of threatening the capital in an attempt to pull Lee out of Pennsylvania. They are once more cutting the railroad and burning homes. Several plantations along the river have been torched.”
Carrie whitened. Was her beloved Cromwell Plantation still standing? What would she and her father find when they were finally able to go home?
Dr. Wild gripped the piece of paper more firmly and turned to the hundred soldiers in his ward. “Listen up, men,” he called and then read the missive in a loud, clear voice. “I will not order anyone to report,” he said firmly. “It is your decision.”
Silence fell on the ward as the wounded men digested the news.
“Do we know what’s happening with General Lee yet?” one called.
“What about Vicksburg?” another asked.
“I’d rather be fighting,” called one legless man. “At least then I had some idea of what was going on.”
Dr. Wild stepped to the center of the ward so he could be more easily heard. “We still have nothing but rumors to go on,” he said regretfully. “It really depends on what story you want to listen to.”
“There is one report,” Carrie admitted, “that Lee’s army has been practically destroyed and is in full retreat.”
“Another report,” added Dr. Wild, “says that Meade’s army was destroyed and Lee has taken 40,000 prisoners.” He smiled ruefully. “Take your pick, men.”
“What about Vicksburg?” another called again.
“There have been reports that Grant is being beaten back,” Carrie said. “And then there are reports...”
“That we lost the city?” one soldier asked grimly.
Carrie just nodded, understanding the frustration her patients were feeling. They had sacrificed the best parts of themselves for a cause they believed in, or were at least willing to fight for, and now they lay helpless, not even able to learn what was happening. She had watched the same explosive frustration build in her father.
One soldier, his arm in a cast, struggled to his feet. “Well, I’m not just gonna lay here. Somebody get me a gun. If those Yankees are coming in to take this city, they’re going to have to put me out of commission again,” he muttered defiantly.
About a quarter of the men agreed with him. Others knew they were too broken to be of any good. Others simply remained silent, the haunted look in their eyes saying they had seen enough horror for a lifetime. They were not going to voluntarily jump back into the fray.
Carrie turned away. She had her own frustrations to deal with. The Union blockade continued to tighten their stranglehold on the coast. The trickle of medicines had slowed even more. No matter the actual outcome of the battle at Gettysburg, the reality was that soon the hospitals would once more be bulging with wounded soldiers. Doctors as well as nurses were just recovering from the onslaught of men from Chancellorsville. Lee’s move into Pennsylvania had indeed given the capital a reprieve, but the shortage of needed supplies had not improved - it had worsened.
Carrie spun around and walked outside, suddenly in need of fresh air. Any mention or thought of the blockade made her feel sick inside. There had been no word from Robert. Of course, she knew mail was unlikely, but still she hoped. Once again she was gripped with the heart wrenching uncertainty that had held her last year. She had reached an uneasy peace with herself over her decision to stay in Richmond, but it did nothing to ease the aching of missing her husband.
Carrie walked to the edge of the plateau and gazed over the city below, its seven hills shimmering in the heat. Would life ever return to some semblance of normalcy, or would they all continue to simply survive from one crisis to the next? The city was being worn down. Exhaustion dogged the expressions of everyone she met. General Lee may have lured the enemy away for the summe
r, but it was their husbands, sons, and fathers he had used to lure them away, and now the uncertainty was eating away at their hearts.
“Mrs. Borden?”
Carrie spun around as someone spoke her name, glad for something to do, some question to answer. Activity had been her salvation. Carrie almost welcomed the idea that soon more wounded soldiers would swarm into the city. At least then she wouldn’t have the time or energy to focus on her own problems. “Yes, Greta. What can I do for you?”
“Some of the women have just come back from a trip into the woods,” the plain, stocky woman replied.
“Wonderful!” Carrie exclaimed. She had been training a group of women how to identify herbs and other plants. Guarded by some of the home militia, they were making forays into the woods on gathering trips. Carrie was determined to do everything she could to bolster the faltering supply of medicines. “Tell them I will be with them soon.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Carrie watched Greta walk away before she then turned back to her purveyance of the city. A sharp clanging of bells erupted again. It seemed that the city was in a constant state of alarm. Shaking her head, she turned away. She was needed to help the women verify the identity of the plants.
“I hear the women have returned with more plants.”
Carrie nodded as Janie walked up to join her. “They are becoming quite efficient. It won’t make up for everything the blockade is holding from us, but it will help.”
“It’s just too bad some of those plants can’t be used for the black hospital.”
Carrie nodded grimly. “The women down there are learning, too, but it’s simply not safe for them to go outside the city. It’s simply ridiculous that the hospital commission won’t release some of the medicines to go to them!” she said angrily.
Janie reached out and touched her arm but didn’t say anything.
Carrie managed a short laugh. “Don’t you get tired of my ranting sometimes?”
“No,” Janie replied calmly. “It’s just another example of how much you care. You’ve met with the commission twice and asked them to change their mind. There is nothing else you can do.” She frowned. “This summer isn’t so bad, but this winter will be hard. I’m afraid that’s when the shortages will become even more critical. Everyone I’ve talked to says this will be another hard winter.”
“There are still the herbs out at the plantation,” Carrie said grimly.
“You know your father would never let you go out there,” Janie said sharply. When Carrie didn’t reply, she took her shoulders and turned Carrie to face her. “Please tell me you’re not thinking of going out there. It’s too dangerous. There is Union cavalry everywhere.”
“They won’t be there forever.” Carrie had been thinking on a daily basis about all the herbs she had bottled and stored in the basement of Cromwell. She had been able to bring back just a few on her trip out that winter. “I could take a wagon out,” she said quietly. “There are enough herbs out there to take care of the black hospital this winter.”
“And what do you think the Union soldiers will do?” Janie cried. “Wave you on and tell you to have a nice trip. It’s too dangerous, Carrie.” Janie looked at her pleadingly. “Please tell me you won’t do it.”
“Not right away, anyway.” Carrie said casually, determination building in her as she talked.
Carrie glanced up when her father slammed into the house. It was obvious from his face there was no good news coming into the Capitol. She almost wished she could plug her ears, but she knew it would do no good. “Bad news?” she asked tentatively. Thomas turned to her with the bitter, angry look she was becoming accustomed to. Some days she had to struggle to remember the calm, loving father she had known on the plantation before her mother died and before the war started.
“Vicksburg has fallen,” he announced wearily. “Secretary of War Seddon forwarded the official report today. Pemberton surrendered the city. The Union occupied it on the fourth of July.”
“I’m sorry,” Carrie said quietly.
Thomas sank down into his chair. He stared out the darkened window unseeingly. “We heard from General Lee, too. He is retreating to Virginia. Gettysburg was a disaster. We suffered terrible losses.”
Carrie was suddenly very glad Robert was out on the Atlantic somewhere. Envisioning him out there was much easier than imagining him killed on another battlefield. She searched for words that would make her father feel better. She knew there were none.
“Union cavalry burned the railroad depot up at Ashland,” he continued in a dead voice. “Train service has been severely disrupted.”
Carrie watched him closely, her heart aching at the defeat and despair she saw etched on his face. She reached forward and took one of his hands, but he didn’t seem to even notice her touch.
“Rosecrans is on the move in Tennessee,” he said hoarsely. “Bragg is being driven out.” His voice cracked, and he lowered his head into his hands. “We’re losing it all,” he choked. “We’re losing it all.”
Carrie dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her father’s trembling shoulders. He remained bowed for just a few moments but then straightened abruptly. Carrie gazed up at the fire blazing in his eyes.
“We’re not beaten yet!” he cried defiantly, his fists clenched. “We’ll regroup! We’ll rebuild!” He stood and stalked to the window. “They will not come down here and destroy everything I’ve worked for all my life. They will not annihilate our society.”
Carrie remained where she was kneeling, a sick heaviness pressing down on her. What would it take to end this war? The passions on both sides seemed to be growing, their darkness expanding until surely they would swallow everything in their path. Would it take the entire destruction of one side before the other was willing to capitulate? Would any of them recognize their country - or themselves - when this was all over?
Carrie was once more standing on the Chimborazo plateau when she saw the smoke from the first train approaching Richmond that morning. The muscles in her neck tensed, and her head began to throb. She knew it was the first ambulance train from Gettysburg. Her stomach knotted as she imagined what would soon be rolling into the hospitals. Soldiers wounded fresh from the battlefield were gut wrenching to see. Add to that almost a week of travel with little treatment, and she had all the ingredients for her worst nightmares.
Carrie took deep breaths of the still air, then turned, and hurried into her ward. The soldiers would be arriving soon. She wanted to make sure everything was ready for them even though she had already checked a dozen times. Activity had once again become her salvation.
It was an hour before the first ambulance wagon rolled into the hospital. Close behind was a long line of conveyances stretching out of sight around the curve down the hill. Dust rose in a rolling cloud above the road. Shimmering heat was already tightening its grip on the city. Carrie silently willed the drivers and aids to hurry. The men waiting in those wagons had suffered enough. Heat and choking dust would only add to their misery.
Soon Carrie was bending over her first patient. “Hello, soldier,” she said gently, biting back her groan.
“Water,” the man whispered. “Water.” His wildly searching eyes fastened on her face for just a moment. “How’s our baby, Sally?” He gave a gasp of pain as Carrie pulled back a bandage to inspect a wound. “The cows need to be let out.” A pause. “I reckon the corn is gonna be good this year.”
Carrie fought the tears welling in her eyes. The young soldier was conscious but securely in the grips of delirium. His roving eyes saw nothing; his grasping hands reached for nothing. “It’s okay,” she said soothingly. She took small comfort in knowing the soldier wasn’t aware she was lying.
Carrie turned to look over her shoulder. “Hobbs!”
Hobbs was standing beside her a moment later, using just one crutch to steady himself on his good leg. “What can I do for you, Miss Carrie?”
“Hold him still,” she ordered. “He is
ravaged with infection.” Quickly she began to unwrap the filthy bandages from his arm and leg. Her stomach churned at the sight of maggots swarming through the angry red areas. Tightening her lips, she went to work, carefully picking out the maggots, then cleaning the wounds as best she could.
“This soldier needs morphine,” she muttered angrily.
“Would you like me to get some?” Hobbs offered eagerly.
“No,” Carrie said shortly. “It is reserved for soldiers who need amputation. There is just not enough to go around.” She looked up. “Please get me some of the elder salve. It will help with the maggots.” She reached down and put her hands on the man’s shoulders to keep him from flailing around in his delirium. “And bring me some of the jimsonweed. We have to bring this man’s fever down, or it will kill him.”
“Don’t let me go, Sally!” the man cried suddenly, bolting forward and breaking free of Carrie’s grip. The expression on his face changed suddenly. “The storm is coming,” he whimpered, shading his eyes and peering out. Fear contorted his face. “The fire. The fire is still coming... eating through me... surrounding me.”
Carrie stepped back.
Hobbs jumped forward. “You want me to hold him again?”
Carrie shook her head wordlessly. She had seen this look before.
Suddenly the fear on the man’s face changed to one of wonder. His voice grew calm. “They’re coming for me. They put the fire out.” For just a moment, the wildness in his eyes cleared, and he looked at Carrie quizzically. “I have to go now,” he murmured.
“Yes, I know,” Carrie replied, a catch in her voice. She stepped forward and soothed the burning brow, pushing back the stringy hair. “I know.”
The man gazed at her for a moment more, then gave a long sigh, and closed his eyes. His body slowly sank back against the pillow, his ravaged face filled with peace.
“I won’t need that medicine,” Carrie said heavily.
“He’s dead?” Hobbs asked hoarsely.
Carrie nodded. “He didn’t really stand a chance. The fever had already destroyed him.” She would never get used to death, but she knew that for some it brought welcome relief. Shaking her head, she looked up. “Let’s find the next patient. There is nothing else we can do for this one.”
