Dark Chaos

by Ginny Dye

  “You ain’t being selfish,” Opal said warmly, squeezing her hand. “I been seeing the restless spirit growing in you every day.”

  “But what about you?” Susie asked. “You want to start your restaurant.”

  Opal shook her head firmly. “There’s a time for everything, Susie. Right now it’s my time to be mama to three young’uns. I promised your mama. Besides, I love those kids like my own. My time to own a restaurant will come someday.” She looked up at Susie with shining eyes. “Right now my job is here.”

  “You’re not mad?” Susie whispered. “You’re not going to be mad if we leave?”

  “All of us have to do what we have to do. I can’t go fight with the soldiers, and I don’t reckon I would be of much use to Rose in her school.” Opal chuckled. “I’m going to stay here and do what I do best.” She stood up and walked over to put a hand on both Susie and Zeke’s shoulder. “I’m right proud of you two. All of us working together will win freedom for our people.”

  “When are you leaving?” Sam asked.

  “In a few days,” Zeke replied. “We didn’t really set a time. We wanted to talk with y’all first.”

  A sudden banging at the door made all of them jump.

  “What in heaven’s name?” Opal cried, springing up from the table.

  Zeke leaped up at the same time and edged over to the door slowly. “I locked it behind me when I came in,” he muttered.

  Sam strode past him. “Land sakes,” he said loudly. “Ain’t no army roamin’ around on a night like tonight. Whoever it be, it be someone in trouble.” He grimaced. “We ain’t leavin’ someone outside on a night like this.”

  Opal grabbed her throat with her hand as Sam unlatched the lock and flung the door open. She peered forward, her eyes wide with fright as the door swung wide.

  “Good Lord,” Sam muttered as he reached out and grabbed the arm of the swaying man in front of him. Seconds later, the soaking form was huddled up next to the fire, gasping for breath.

  Opal moved over closer. “He ain’t nothin’ but a boy,” she cried, compassion replacing her fear. Then she noticed the blood stain on his jacket. “And he’s been hurt.”

  The boy finally gained enough control of his breathing and trembling limbs to look up. “Is this Cromwell Plantation?”

  “Why you want to know?” Sam asked sharply, motioning silently for the others to follow his lead.

  Opal handed the boy a hot cup of coffee, and he gulped it greedily. Just then the aroma of the bread told her it was done. Turning away, she pulled it out quickly, laying the golden loaves on the table. She smiled when the boy looked at the bread wistfully. “We’ll find out what he wants in a minute,” she said firmly.

  A few minutes later thick slices of bread, lathered with wild grape jam were laid in front of all of them. Opal clucked her tongue as the boy demolished his in just seconds. Without comment she cut him another piece. Only when it was gone did the starved look start to fade from his eyes.

  He leaned back and stared around at them. “My name is George Andrews. I’m from Richmond.”

  “You’re a long way from home,” Sam replied, eyeing him closely.

  “Yes, sir,” George said politely.

  Opal looked at him closely. Not many white boys were polite to old black men.

  “Mrs. Hamilton said if I ever got in trouble that I would find help at Cromwell Plantation.”

  “You know Mrs. Hamilton?” Susie cried. “I used to work for her.”

  “Are you Susie?” George asked in relief. Then he turned. “You must be Opal. You’re the one taking care of Fannie’s kids.”

  Opal grinned. This white boy was a friend. “What you doing out on a night like tonight? Mrs. Hamilton trying to get you killed?”

  George shook his head ruefully. “Mrs. Hamilton thinks I’m already at Fort Monroe. I have a message for General Butler.”

  “No more messages inside eggs?” Susie asked with a grin.

  “This message is so important she wanted it hand delivered.” Suddenly his face whitened, and he grimaced.

  Opal sprang up. “Listen to us!” she cried. “We’re throwing questions at this boy while he’s hurt.” She hurried forward. “Let me take a look at that. What happened?”

  George shook his head and motioned her away. “I’ll be fine,” he insisted. “At first I thought some Confederate soldiers got me, but I really think it was just some hunter. I saw somebody peering at me through the bushes; then he just turned and left.”

  “He just left you there to die?” Opal asked indignantly.

  “It was better that way,” George said. “It’s most important that no one get this message but General Butler.” He paused. “I laid there for a while, then got my bearings, and came here. It took me a while.”

  “What you want us to do?” Sam asked.

  George took a deep breath. “This message has to get to General Butler. Can one of you take it there?” His gaze settled hopefully on Zeke.

  Opal was bursting with curiosity to know what the letter said, but she knew better than to ask. Most likely George didn’t even know. His next words confirmed it.

  “I don’t know what is so all-fired important in this letter, but Mrs. Hamilton seemed to be in a big rush to get it to the general. From the little she told me, I gathered it had something to do with all the Union prisoners held in Richmond. A big stink is being raised up North about it.”

  Opal gasped, exchanging excited looks with Susie.

  “How old are you?” Sam asked suddenly.

  George pulled himself up taller. “I’m thirteen.”

  “You know what you doin’ could get you hung?”

  “I know,” George said steadily. “I was born in the North. I lived there till just before the war started. My father was called here on business. My mother and father are strong Unionists. So am I.”

  Opal stared at him. The eyes staring back at them were the eyes of someone who had counted the cost and knew what he was doing. She shuddered suddenly. Mere boys were becoming men long before they should. She was sad yet filled with admiration for the determined lad in front of her.

  Zeke stood and held out his hand. “I’ll take the letter,” he said strongly, glancing at Susie. “My wife and me was just leaving for Fort Monroe.”

  “But you said it would be a few days,” Opal protested, knowing it was futile before she even said anything. She had thought she would have a little time to get used to the idea of Susie not being around.

  “You heard the boy,” Zeke replied. “The letter needs to get there soon.” He turned to Susie.

  Susie nodded. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

  In spite of the near-disaster in the first tunnel they had attempted, Matthew’s heart pounded with excitement when he and Anderson made the first cut where they determined their second attempt would be. They were still in Rat Dungeon, but they had decided that if they moved several feet to the right they could bypass the lower part of the sewer and hit it where it started to ascend up the street. That way they could dig in at a higher angle and avoid the same catastrophe they had almost encountered earlier.

  Matthew looked back over his shoulder and gave the thumbs up signal to the men who were watching them expectantly. Wide grins were his response. In spite of the previous disappointment and the ongoing stench of the cellar, the men’s spirits were still high. Matthew knew how important it was for them to stay that way. No one could stand the conditions they were laboring under for long if hope hadn’t been shining brightly in their hearts - beckoning them on to the glorious freedom that waited just the other side of Libby Prison walls.

  Matthew and Anderson attacked the wall eagerly. The men behind them grabbed the boxes of dirt they sent back and spread them under the mound of straw on the floor to hide it from the guard’s roaming eyes. In spite of the horrendous conditions, Matthew knew it was the best protection they could have hoped for. None of the guards were eager to come near Rat Dungeon. Now that it held
no prisoners they had no reason to come there at all.

  The ground was soft and relatively easy to dig. Three nights passed, and they had already dug almost two feet into the new tunnel. At this rate they would be out soon. Using the half trowel one of the men had managed to steal, Anderson labored beside Matthew. Matthew grinned and jabbed his knife in especially hard.

  “What?” he muttered under his breath. He jabbed again, striking into the same hard surface. Touching Anderson’s shoulder, he motioned toward the impenetrable spot and raised his eyebrows.

  Anderson shouldered him out of the way and leaned closer, digging quietly with his trowel. Finally he turned, a look of deep frustration on his face. He shook his head and motioned for Matthew to back out.

  Minutes later all the men were once again assembled in the kitchen. Anderson took a deep breath. “I’m afraid we’ll have to dig another tunnel, men. We’ve run into wooden timbers so thick we have no hope of cutting through them.” He managed to smile through the grime covering his face. “We’ll find another one. I know there is a way out of here.”

  Matthew watched as the listening men frowned; then he silently turned away and trudged back to their places on the floor. Knowing they had seen the same thing, he exchanged a long look with Anderson. The latest failure was more than the exhausted men could take. Together they had watched the hope in their eyes flicker, then die.

  Anderson watched them go. “They need a break,” he said compassionately.

  “We’re still with you,” a voice announced quietly.

  Matthew spun around and grinned when he saw Peter and another man named Sprinkler standing behind them.

  Sprinkler, a lieutenant, had been in Libby Prison for ten months. “I’m getting out of here,” he said firmly, his green eyes glowing with determination.

  Anderson nodded quickly. “We’ve got time to look for another place to dig,” he said with satisfaction.

  Soon, the four men stood once more in Rat Dungeon. Holding their one meager candle high enough to shed its dim flickering light on the walls, Matthew walked along the perimeter of the dungeon. Suddenly he stopped at the northeast corner. “Why didn’t I see it before?” he whispered, motioning to the men to join him.

  They stared at him, puzzled. Matthew jerked his thumb toward the board leading to the kitchen. When they were huddled around him again, he told them his plan. “I’ve been studying everything through the window,” he began eagerly. “The ground is eight or nine feet higher outside where I showed you than it is by the canal.”

  “So?” Anderson murmured. “We can’t get to the sewer that way.”

  “We aren’t aiming for the sewer.” Matthew spoke fast before Anderson could interrupt. “We’re going to tunnel all the way under the street until we reach the other side of the fence we can see from the windows. There is an empty lot on the other side of it. No one will be able to see us there when we get out.”

  “Do you know how far that is?” Anderson frowned.

  “At least fifty feet from what I can tell,” Matthew replied. He leaned forward eagerly, suddenly certain his plan would work.

  “Fifty feet!” Peter exclaimed.

  “What’s fifty feet?” Matthew asked quietly. “We have nothing but time. We can either admit defeat or do what it takes to get out.” Silence was the only response. Matthew took a deep breath. “Does anyone else have a better idea?”

  Suddenly Anderson grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “By jove, I think it will work. You know for a journalist, you’re not so bad.” He leaned back and stared at Matthew appraisingly. “You’re a lot smarter than you look,” he said quietly.

  Peter and Sprinkler joined in the almost inaudible laughter.

  Anderson stood quickly. “We all need to get some rest. I predict the rest of the men will come back in with us when they see how well the new tunnel is going, but it’s up to us to carry on the work for a while.”

  “We’re still better off than when we started,” Matthew commented. “There are four of us instead of two.”

  All four men reached out, grasped hands in the center of their small circle, gazed at each other with determined faces, and then headed toward their beds. Tomorrow was a new day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Carrie straightened up from examining one of her patients. She smiled warmly. “I think you’re ready to go home.”

  “You’re not kidding me?” Private Abner Scroll asked eagerly. “I can really go home?”

  “Really,” Carrie said firmly. “You’ve healed very well. You’re walking well on your crutches. I see no reason you can’t go home.” She paused. “You know it will take you some time to get your strength back.”

  “Yeah,” Abner mused then grinned. “But I reckon I’ll be able to put a crop in this spring. Ain’t got to do that for the last three years.” His grin broadened. “I reckon my wife and kids will be right glad to see me.”

  “I imagine so,” Carrie agreed. “They’ve only written you letters almost every day,” she teased. She was quite certain it had been Abner’s family who had helped him pull through. Whenever the discouragement had seemed to settle on him like a dark cloud, he had pulled out his thick sheaf of letters. Carrie thought fleetingly of the big stack of letters she still had from Aunt Abby from before the war. Their warm encouragement was still a balm to her soul when she teetered close to despair.

  Abner lay back against his pillows, his eyes bright with excitement. “When can I leave?”

  “I think there is a train heading up into the mountains in a couple of days, as long as the tracks stay free from snow,” Carrie replied. “I see no reason you can’t be on it.” She wanted to ask him how he planned on planting a crop with one leg but didn’t. She knew that raw determination could achieve many things. “We’ll miss you around here, Abner.”

  “Indeed we will,” a cheerful voice said. Dr. Wild strode up and reached out to grasp Abner’s hand. “You’re a very lucky man, Abner. I really didn’t think we were going to save you last summer. You were closer to death than any man I have seen come through here and make it. I guess God still has something for you to do.”

  “Yes, sir,” Abner said solemnly. “I think about that a lot. I been asking God every day what my future is going to be like.” He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “And what has God told you?” Dr. Wild finally asked.

  Abner looked at both of them with deeply serious eyes. “I reckon God told me that the best way to predict my future is to go out and create it myself.”

  Carrie stared at Abner and was struck again by the wisdom of the young farmer. “Create it yourself…,” she murmured.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Abner said forcefully. “I was laying here one night feeling right sorry for myself - having lost my leg and all. I just didn’t see that I could have any kind of future.” He paused. “I was kind of wishing God had done took me on that battlefield. I figured I wouldn’t be nothing but a burden to my family.”

  “They would never feel that way!” Carrie protested.

  “No, ma’am,” Abner agreed easily. “But I did, and my feelings was the ones I was listening to. Anyway,” he continued, “I just kept asking God what my future was gonna be like, but I wadn’t getting no answers.” He took a deep breath and grinned. “That’s when I finally began to understand. God was telling me I would create my own future. That I didn’t just have to lay around and wait to see what would happen. I had to take charge of things.”

  “So what are you going to create?” Dr. Wild asked.

  “I’m a farmer,” Abner said steadily. “I reckon keep on farming. And I’m a daddy, so I reckon I’ll be the best daddy I can be. And be the best husband to Ardith I can be.” He looked up and grinned. “One day I’ll have one of the biggest farms in western Virginia. You remember that.”

  Carrie nodded, a lump in her throat. “I believe you, Abner. I believe you.”

  “I’ll be watching,” Dr. Wild promised. Then he turned
to Carrie. “When you are done here, may I see you a few minutes?”

  “I was just getting ready to leave,” Carrie said quickly. She reached over to grasp Abner’s hand one more time and then followed Dr. Wild to his tiny, immaculate office.

  “If you are free this afternoon, I would appreciate your help with something.”

  “Certainly,” Carrie replied instantly. “The hospital is almost empty now. I have plenty of time. What is it?”

  “Belle Island Prison,” Dr. Wild said grimly. “I’ve heard about the conditions over there. Dr. McCaw has asked if I will go over to deliver medical care. I would appreciate it if you would join me.”

  Carrie gripped the carriage to keep from crying out in horror as the hospital carriage rambled across the bridge leading to Belle Island. She gazed out over the prison camp located on the extreme lower end of the island. Four acres of land had been set aside, surrounded by a three-foot embankment of frozen dirt. Just the other side of the embankment was a chain of sentinels, their guns up and ready in case of an escape attempt. A ridge of low hills surrounded and overlooked the camp. She could see the pieces of artillery planted there, pointed ominously toward the camp.

  It was the men that horrified Carrie, however. Everywhere she looked were skeleton-like figures covered with flapping rags. Most were shoeless. Their eyes stared around numbly. Some looked up as the wagon rolled past. Most stared stoically at the ground.

  “Do they not feed these men?” Carrie cried indignantly, her stomach revolting at what she was seeing.

  “Not enough,” Dr. Wild growled, his eyes burning. “I had heard the conditions were bad, but I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “It looks like nothing more than a death camp,” Carrie whispered, shuddering in the warmth of her thick coat. She looked again at the camp. Some of the prisoners had tents - if those ragged caricatures could be given such a name - but many of the men seemed to have no shelter at all. They stretched out on wooden boxes or simply lay on the frozen ground while trying to soak up all the warmth from the feeble sun they could. Some were walking around, moving their bony arms in a futile attempt to get warm. Carrie turned away, tears glimmering in her eyes.