Dark Chaos

by Ginny Dye

  “I can’t believe humans can treat each other like this,” she whispered. A deep loathing filled her heart and spirit.

  “It’s horrible,” Dr. Wild agreed somberly. Suddenly one of the men stopped moving his arms and walked toward the carriage. Dr. Wild pulled back on the reins before they ran him over.

  “Get away from there!” one of the guards called. The man looked his direction then turned back to look appealingly at Carrie. “Move or I’ll shoot!” the guard yelled menacingly.

  Carrie stood up quickly and glared at him. “You’ll do no such thing,” she snapped. “This man is causing no harm.” She drew herself up erectly. “We are here by order of the medical commission. I would appreciate it if you would let us do our job.” The guard grumbled but turned away.

  “Thank you,” the prisoner said gratefully. “Might you have a blanket in your carriage? It is fearfully cold out here.”

  Carrie examined the obviously well-educated man. “How long have you been here?”

  “Just since New Years’ Eve,” he said, shivering. “They marched several hundred of us across the bridge through a dreadful snow storm. I’m afraid we were stripped of our uniforms and handed the rags I am wearing now. Very few of us were lucky enough to keep our shoes.” He glanced at Dr. Wild. “Do you know anything of a prisoner exchange?”

  “I know a loud cry is being made for one, but so far I’ve heard no solid news.”

  “I see,” the man said quietly. His shoulders slumped forward, and the shivering intensified.

  Carrie stood up suddenly, reached under the seat, and pulled out the one blanket she knew was there. “I wish I had more,” she said compassionately. “There is so much need.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the man responded gratefully. “I assure you I will share my blanket with several of my friends. We take turns sleeping in shifts around here.” He smiled and turned away.

  Carrie watched him go, then turned, and stared at Dr. Wild. “How can we do any good here? How can we treat sick men who have no shelter, no way to keep warm, and no food?” She scowled, anger boiling up and threatening to choke her. “I wonder how many of these men die every night?” Her own question was answered as she gazed past the embankment and saw hundreds of small mounds of frozen earth. Her lips tightened, and she sat back down.

  “We’ll do what we can,” Dr. Wild said somberly.

  “Do they treat our men like this?” Carrie asked suddenly.

  “Prisoner-of-war camps are never pleasant places,” Dr. Wild said hesitantly.

  “But to treat them like animals?” Carrie cried. “Some of these men probably have family in Richmond!” Then she pursued her earlier question. “Do they treat our men like this?” she pressed.

  “I don’t know,” Dr. Wild admitted. “I have heard unpleasant reports, but I daresay that at least the North is better able to feed their prisoners.”

  “Until they find out what is happening here,” Carrie snorted. “I’m sure there will be retribution.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” Dr. Wild replied. “Carrie, everyone in the South is battling hunger. Our soldiers exist on little more than what these men get. General Lee is constantly sending out appeals for food to feed his men.”

  “I know it’s bad everywhere,” Carrie whispered in a broken voice. “But to see it with my own eyes.” She blinked against her tears. “It breaks my heart to think our soldiers are treated this badly. This is simply inhumane.”

  A heavy wagon rolling across the wooden bridge arrested her attention. She looked up and watched it slow, then stop. A sharply dressed Confederate official stood and shouted for attention. Most of the men watching him remained where they were, looking up with disinterest. Some stood and moved over to where they could better hear him.

  The official waved his arm then read loudly from a piece of paper in his hands.

  “The government of the Confederate States of America announces a prison exchange of 500 men.”

  Carrie looked out as the whole clearing fell silent. The reading continued.

  “The exchange will take place day after tomorrow at ten o’clock in the morning.” The official looked up and cleared his voice. “Everyone with last names that begin with the letters A through E will be included in the exchange.”

  Weak cheering met his announcement. Carrie gazed out over the crowded field and saw expressions of joy mixed with those of black despair. “How wonderful!” she exclaimed.

  “Yes. It should help,” Dr. Wild murmured.

  The official waved his hand for further attention. “There is a report, not yet verified, that another five hundred will be released in a few days.”

  More cheering met this announcement. Carrie watched as the men slapped each other on their backs. Groups of men were soon huddled together. She was sure they must be talking about home and what they would do when they escaped the confines of the camp.

  The next three hours passed rapidly though Carrie battled anger and despair. The men brought to them were, for the most part, far beyond her and Dr. Wild’s ability to save them. The cold and lack of food had ravaged their bodies beyond possibility of restoration. She helped Dr. Wild pass out what little bits of medicine they had and tried to offer hope where there was none.

  One of the men, emaciated and flushed with fever, gazed up at Carrie with tortured eyes. “Why do they treat us this way? Why can’t we get simple food and medicine? I don’t think that is asking so much.” His words were slurred and broken.

  Dr. Wild put a hand on his shoulder. “Many of our own men are suffering,” he said kindly, in an attempt to explain what was in reality unexplainable. “I’m afraid the Union blockade of our coast is rather a stunning success. Far too little is able to get through. I’m afraid Richmond is harder hit than any of the other cities. The rather dubious honor of being the Confederate capital makes us a rather favorite target.”

  He took a deep breath. “I am so sorry you are being treated this way. If I had the power to change things, I certainly would,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “I don’t expect this to be of any comfort to you, but there are many of our own citizens starving to death this winter as well.”

  “Hurrah for war,” the soldier said grimly, then closed his eyes as another spasm of pain gripped him. Minutes later he was carried off by several of the guards.

  “What will happen to him?” Carrie whispered.

  “He’ll be dead by tonight.”

  Carrie and Dr. Wild were loading supplies into the wagon when the commander of the prison stepped up onto a platform and called for attention. The prisoners crowded close this time, eager to receive any word of the prisoner exchange.

  The commander looked out over the men, his hard face tinged with compassion. “I’m afraid the government official was mistaken,” he began in a loud voice. “The first five hundred men to be exchanged will happen as planned. But they are merely to meet the quota for a special exchange arranged between our two governments. The prisoner exchange program has not been reinstated. No more men will be leaving.” He stepped down and walked rapidly to his office on the far side of the encampment.

  “Oh, no,” Carrie whispered, watching the prisoners. Hundreds of faces were suddenly gripped with despair even deeper than what she had initially witnessed. To have been so close to freedom, just to have it snatched away seemed more than some of the men could bear. Dozens turned away weeping. Several, overcome with emotion, began to beat themselves in agony of soul.

  Carrie wept along with the men. “How awful!” she cried, longing to set all of them free. The wretched men she saw in front of her were no danger to anyone. They simply wanted to go home and be with their families, surely to forget there was such a thing as war going on. Most of the men had been so physically broken they would never fight again.

  Finally she looked at Dr. Wild. “Get me out of here,” she ordered in a sick voice.

  Zeke and Susie looked carefully at the map George had given them; then both stared at the
crossroads stretched out in front of them. “I don’t see it anywhere,” Zeke said in a bewildered voice.

  “Are we lost?” Susie’s voice trembled.

  Zeke looked over and wrapped his arm around her comfortingly. “Well, I wouldn’t say we are exactly lost. I just don’t know for sure where we be.” He straightened. “We just got to keep heading east. That be the way the fort is. Sooner or later we’ll find something we recognize by this map. Then we’ll know where we are,” he said brightly.

  Susie managed to smile at his determinedly cheerful voice. She knew he was trying to lift her spirits. Tucking her head against the wind, she pulled her coat closer to protect her against the driving rain and continued to walk.

  “Look at it this way,” Zeke called above the wind, his own face buried in his collar. “There won’t most likely be soldiers roaming around in this here weather. I reckon they be burrowed up somewhere they can be warm.”

  Susie didn’t bother to answer. Her commitment to reaching Fort Monroe hadn’t diminished, but her enthusiasm for walking in the rain certainly had. She would welcome the opportunity to worry about Confederate soldiers if she could just have dry ground to walk on. Patting her pocket to make sure the letter was still there wrapped securely against the rain, she stepped around yet another large mud puddle.

  Her mind flitted back to the cozy, warm cabin she had shared with Zeke. She had loved the plantation. Had loved watching her brother and sisters recover from their mother’s death and their father’s imprisonment and thrive under Opal’s cover. But finally she had reached the point where she could no longer ignore her restlessness. Moses’ dropping by had brought Zeke’s restlessness to a head and had made her recognize her own. She knew she was doing the right thing - she just wished she didn’t have to be so miserable doing it.

  The hours sloshed by as they plodded down the dirt road, both struggling against the mud that reached out in a miry attempt to claim them. The wind rose and fell in intervals, but the rain continued to fall steadily. Susie was soaked through to the bone and shivering violently when she spied a structure through the undergrowth. “Zeke!” she cried, stumbling as a puddle reached out to grab her.

  “You all right?” Zeke called anxiously, then stopped and tipped his hat so he could see her.

  Susie pointed toward the woods. “There’s a building in there.”

  Zeke made a bee-line for the woods. Moments later he popped back out and waved her over to join him. “It ain’t nothing fancy,” he grinned, “but I reckon it’s a place we can call home for tonight.”

  Susie brushed away the cobwebs tucked in the corner of the door frame and eased into the little cottage, clearly deserted for a long time. It was dark and musty; little of the gray light outside filtered through the one small window on the back wall.

  “There be dry wood in the fireplace!” Zeke called excitedly. “Somebody must have left here real quick.”

  “Probably running from a battle,” Susie said, sweeping the room with her eyes. “Why don’t you get a fire started?” she suggested. “There’s a broom in the corner. I reckon I can get some of the dust stirred around and out of our way.”

  Ten minutes later a fire was crackling brightly in the fireplace. After the cabin had started to warm up, Suzie took off her coat and draped it over a table, then did the same with Zeke’s. A stack of wood in the corner made her sure the coats would be dry by morning. She looked around again. “I wonder why the Union soldiers didn’t burn this place?”

  “Probably wadn’t worth much to them,” Zeke shrugged. “From what I can tell, they went after the big places. I got reports that Moses and his men did bunches of damage. Other raidin’ parties been out doin’ their mischief as well.”

  “Well,” Susie sighed. “I’m just glad for a warm, dry place tonight. I know we need to get that letter to General Butler, but I don’t think I could have gone much farther in this weather.”

  “It was sappin’ the life out of us, sure ‘nuff,” Zeke said, staring contentedly at the fire. “I reckon we should be there in a couple of days. In spite of the rain, I figure we made right good time.” Susie yawned. Zeke looked up and smiled. “I saw some blankets over there in the corner. I’m sure they gots lots of holes in them, but they’ll still keep us warm.” He stood and walked to the dark corner. Seconds later he was back, his arms loaded with blankets. “You get some sleep,” he commanded. “I’ll keep an eye on the fire.” He reached into his sack and pulled out some food. “Don’t you want some food before you sleep? You ain’t ate nothin’ since lunch.”

  Susie shook her head and reached eagerly for the blankets which were indeed full of holes. “Tired,” she mumbled. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the floor.

  Several times during the night, she heard Zeke fussing with the fire, but the steady ping of rain on the tin roof always lulled her back to sleep.

  When Susie woke the next morning, she stretched mightily. Her body was refreshed, though stiff, from her night on the floor. Zeke snored quietly beside her. She glanced over at the fire still burning in the fireplace. He must have gotten up not too long ago to stoke it. She looked at him lovingly, grateful to have someone take care of her. Sitting up slowly, she glanced toward the window. With a wide smile, she threw aside her blankets and got up, moving quietly so as not to wake Zeke.

  Moments later she closed the door behind her and began gulping in deep breaths of the rain-freshened air as well as letting the first rays of the morning sun bathe her face with its golden light. “Thank you that the rain has stopped,” she whispered to the sky. She could feel her spirits rising with the sun.

  She didn’t know how long she had stood out there before she heard the front door open. She spun around with a wide grin. “The rain has stopped!” she cried joyfully.

  Zeke stared at the golden globe on the horizon and nodded his head with satisfaction. “I reckon we’d better be moving on.”

  Two days later, the sun was just setting when Susie and Zeke approached the outskirts of what they knew must be Fort Monroe. They had not encountered anyone else on the entire trip. They had slept the last night out in the open, but since there had been no rain Susie couldn’t complain.

  “I told you we’d make it,” Zeke said proudly.

  “Who goes there?” a loud voice called.

  Zeke stepped forward boldly. “I be Zeke. This here be my wife, Susie.”

  “More contrabands?” the soldier sighed. “We don’t have many runaways who show up in the dead of winter.” He cast a practiced look at the sky. “Lucky you made it. From the looks of things, there’s gonna be a big storm hitting tonight.”

  Susie glanced around. Rolling toward them across the ocean was a menacing bank of gray clouds. “We’re not runaways,” she said quickly. “We have an important message for General Butler.”

  “That so?” the guard said skeptically.

  Susie saw Zeke open his mouth to explain, but she interrupted him. It would do no good to explain their situation to this man. He had no authority to do anything. She could still remember Mrs. Hamilton talking about the way things were done in the army. “I think it might be best if you took us to your commanding officer,” she said quietly but firmly.

  Respect flickered in the soldier’s eyes. “That so?” he growled again. He looked as if he were about to refuse but then nodded his head abruptly. “Come with me.”

  Two hours later Susie and Zeke stood in front of General Butler himself. He leaned back and stared at them. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Susie said eagerly. “We have a letter for you.”

  “A letter?” General Butler barked. “Surely you could have given it to one of my aides.”

  “No, sir,” Susie said firmly. “Mrs. Hamilton said the letter was only to be given to you.”

  The effect of Mrs. Hamilton’s name was immediate. General Butler pushed away some papers on his massive oak desk and leaned toward them. “Mrs. Hamilton, you say?”

  “I us
ed to work for her,” Susie knew she had his attention now. “A few days ago a young boy knocked at our door. He had been wounded by a hunter. He had this letter.” She pulled it from her pocket. “We brought it on.”

  “How did you get here?” he asked, puzzled. “The rain has made the roads all but impassable to wagons.”

  “We walked,” Zeke said proudly.

  “You walked?” Butler exclaimed. “Through all that rain?” He shook his head in admiration and reached for the letter.

  Susie handed it over willingly, glad to know their mission had been accomplished. She watched as he read it and wondered at the intense concentration that crossed his face.

  General Butler looked up. “Thank you for bringing this.” He pocketed it and looked at them more closely. “We need to find someplace for you for the night. Maybe for the next few days if that storm hits. Then you can go home. I’ll have one of my men take you.”

  “We’re stayin’,” Zeke announced. “I plan on being a soldier.”

  “Good,” Butler announced with satisfaction. “We can use more of your kind.” He turned to Susie. “What about you?”

  “I’m staying too. I am looking for someone in the camps. Maybe you can tell me where to find her.”

  General Butler barked a hoarse laugh. “Ma’am, there are thousands of contrabands in that camp. You’re going to have your work cut out for you. I’m afraid I’ll be of no help.” He leaned forward. “Just out of curiosity...?”

  “Her name is Rose,” Susie responded. “She’s a teacher.”

  “Rose Samuels?” Butler asked.

  “You know her?” Susie gasped, unable to believe their good fortune.

  Butler nodded. “I’ll have one of my men show you where she lives.” Then he stood and walked to the door, dismissing them. “Thank you again for your service. I can assure you it was of immense value.”