by Ginny Dye
Matthew walked out onto the porch of the large mansion, breathed in the fresh air, and enjoyed the warm sunshine on his face. It had only been four days since Robert had left them and returned to Richmond, but he could already feel new life and energy flowing back into his body. His flesh was starting to fill out and his hacking cough was better. The plan was to stay here for two weeks, build their strength up, and then try to get through to Fort Monroe.
The sudden sound of hoof beats alerted him. He jumped up from the swing and ducked back into the front door. “Company,” he called.
Sam was beside him in an instant. “You get a look?”
“No, I just heard them.”
“You and Peter get on down to the basement. I’ll take care of things up here.” Sam paused. “You know how to disappear if you need to.”
Matthew nodded as Peter appeared beside him. “Company,” he said. “Let’s go.” They strode down the hall quickly, hearing the clump of booted feet on the porch just as they ducked their heads underneath the cobwebs and descended into the dark basement. Matthew felt his way toward the lantern and lit it, keeping the flame low.
“Why are we down here?” Peter protested. “If those are Rebel soldiers and they start searching, we don’t have anywhere to go. We’ll be sitting ducks!”
Matthew just held his finger to his lips. He hadn’t told Peter the secret yet. The Cromwell family secret would stay just that unless there was a need. Carrie had given him a note to give Sam. When he had handed it to him to the day after Robert left, the old man had merely raised his eyebrows. The next day, while Peter was sleeping, he had shown Matthew the tunnel.
Matthew could hear muted voices, but he couldn’t make out any words. He ground his teeth in frustration. Suddenly the clomping of boots drew closer, and one voice rang above the rest. “We have our orders. We’re going to search.”
“Oh, no,” Peter groaned, looking around frantically.
Matthew grabbed his arm and pulled him in the direction of the bookshelves. Seconds later they were encased in the tunnel. Matthew grinned when he raised the lantern and illuminated Peter’s face. “I told you everything would be all right,” he whispered.
Peter just shook his head, his eyes wide in amazement. “This is something.” He opened his mouth to say more but snapped it shut again when they heard the basement door slam open.
Matthew turned off the lantern, unsure whether the faint light would glimmer through the crack. Total darkness embraced them as two men descended to the basement to talk.
“You really think some of them could be here?” one of them said.
“I think they could be anywhere,” another deeper voice growled. “All I know is we have orders to search every building between here and Union lines.”
“Must be a bit embarrassing to lose over a hundred men out of one of the most dreaded prisons in the South,” the first man said. There was a brief silence. “I don’t see anything, and there sure isn’t anywhere to hide down here. Not unless they’ve buried themselves under cobwebs.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past those men who built that tunnel,” the second man said, a tinge of admiration in his voice. “The commander of Libby Prison is fit to be tied. Took most of his guards and had them thrown into Castle Thunder. Said there was no way those men could have gotten out unless the guards had been bought off.”
“Yeah, well, twenty-five of them have already been brought back.” There was more heavy stomping. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll go see if any of the other men found someone.”
Matthew waited until the door had closed then relit his lantern. He and Peter stared at each other. “A hundred men?” Matthew finally said in amazement. “There must have been a mass exodus.” His shoulders shook with laughter as he imagined men swarming like ants through the tunnel they had worked so hard to build.
“I wonder who they’ve caught,” Peter said. “I pity them, whoever they are.”
Matthew sobered instantly. Visions of Anderson, Sprinkler, Wilson, and the others rose in his mind.
“Sure does my heart good to think of those guards in Castle Thunder,” Peter said in a more cheerful voice. “Won’t hurt them to feel what we did for a while. Maybe it will make them more human…” His voice trailed away as if he didn’t believe it; then he waved his arm in the air. “You want to tell me where this place came from? You seem to have a monopoly on tunnel escapes.”
Matthew told him what he knew. “Carrie was determined to give us as much of a chance as possible,” he finished, his voice thick with emotion.
“You say this tunnel goes out to the river?” Peter asked thoughtfully.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Let’s not walk to Fort Monroe,” Peter said suddenly. “Let’s go down the river.”
“Can’t,” Matthew said promptly. “Moses took the only boat still around here. I checked.”
Peter was undaunted. “We’ll make our own.” He leaned closer, his eyes bright. “I lived on a river in New York when I was a kid. I didn’t move to the city until later. My brothers and I used to make rafts all the time. Sometimes we would spend up to a whole week floating down the river.”
“A raft…,” Matthew mused. The James was a relatively calm river. They would encounter no rapids. If they hugged the shoreline, they would have plenty of time to disappear inland if someone in a Confederate boat spotted them. At this time of the year, very few boats would be on the river at all. He nodded slowly. “I think it will work.”
“Of course, it will work,” Peter said with confidence. “I’d rather float down that river than walk another forty miles surrounded by Rebel soldiers as thick as flies.”
Matthew felt his excitement growing. “We’ll stay two weeks like we planned; then we’ll keep going.”
Matthew felt and looked like a new man when he shook hands with Sam then embraced Opal and the kids. “I hope to find a way to adequately thank you some day,” he said.
“You just gets yourself to Fort Monroe safe,” Sam told him. “That be all the thanks we need.”
“You sure you’ve got plenty of food?” Opal asked.
“Any more and the raft might sink.” Peter laughed then cleared his throat. “You people have changed my life.”
Matthew looked at him curiously. He had felt a difference in Peter, but he hadn’t known how to define it.
Peter looked uncomfortable for a moment then cleared his throat again. “I didn’t understand why Matthew was so concerned about the ex-slaves in the contraband camps. I never really thought that blacks should be slaves,” he stated, then shrugged. “I guess the truth is I just didn’t think about blacks at all. I had a full life that took all my energy. It was easy not to think about how slaves must suffer in the South. I didn’t understand what the abolitionists were making such a big fuss about.” He took a deep breath. “I guess I’ve discovered why. You people have been wonderful to me, and for no other reason than because I’m a human being.”
“That be right, boy,” Sam said.
“You knew nothing about me,” Peter continued, “yet you treated me like family. I’ll never forget it.”
Sam reached out and put a gnarled hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You remember one thing, Peter. Ain’t many of us able to go out and change the whole world. But ever’one of us can help change the people God brings our way.”
Peter nodded. “I’ll remember,” he promised.
Chunks of ice floating in the iron, gray waters of the mighty James bounced off the raft as it floated easily down the river. The current was fairly strong, but the surface was marred by nothing but some tiny ripples.
Matthew leaned back and gnawed on a piece of break. Soon the sun would set, and the full moon would light their way.
“What are you thinking?” Peter asked.
Matthew smiled. “I’m thinking that this is one of my dreams come true. When I was a little boy, I used to dream of putting a boat on the river and just going. The rivers up around my home in west
ern Virginia were either too shallow or full of rapids.” He sighed. “Of course, my dream didn’t include evading capture from Rebel soldiers.”
“Back then you would have thought that even more exciting.”
“Yes, well, I find my perspective changing as I get older,” Matthew said. “Want another piece of Opal’s sweet potato pie?”
“Planning on gaining all your weight back in a month?” Peter teased.
“Maybe.” Matthew cut a slice of pie and began to chew.
The moon rose, a golden, glorious orb just as the sun, shrouded in a veil of red, slipped below the horizon. It hung suspended on the skyline then began to make its ascent, casting a silver glow over the river spread out before them. The air was still and cold, causing Matthew to snuggle deeper into the blankets wrapped around him.
“It’s hard to believe there’s a war going on,” Peter whispered as if he didn’t want to break the magical spell.
“I know,” Matthew said. “It seems that if people could just get outside to absorb enough of God’s beauty in their hearts, maybe it would release some of the hatred and passion.” He shook his head. “I wish it could be that easy.”
The moon continued to rise until it seemed as if they were flowing right into it. Matthew held his breath, able to believe for the moment that the magical fairytale world spread out before him would embrace him and hold him in its shimmering glow forever. There was no war. No prison. No Rebel soldiers. Reality was swallowed by magic, and the whole world was full of peace.
A shot in the distance dispelled his fantasy world. He scrambled to his knees, threw aside the blanket, and peered into the dark shadows along the riverbank. “What was that?”
Peter knelt beside him, using the paddle to edge them closer to the bank where the shadows could hide their presence. “We stand out like sore thumbs in that moonlight,” he muttered.
Suddenly they heard a loud crashing in the woods. Matthew stiffened, wishing fervently that he had a gun. Whatever was coming at them was clearly panicked.
Peter reached up and grabbed a low hanging branch, then slung a length of rope over it to bring them to a standstill. If they stayed quiet, maybe no one would see them. The dark wood of the boat melded with the shadows, making them almost invisible.
The crashing grew louder, and another gunshot roared in the distance, followed by muted shouting. “They went this way,” floated to them on the breeze.
Matthew’s heart pounded furiously, and his breath came in shallow gasps. Had someone seen them? Were soldiers pursuing them? “Cast us off,” he ordered in a low voice. “We can’t just wait for them.”
Peter nodded and quickly untied the rope. They had gone no more than ten feet before two dark shapes came hurling down the slope, splashing into the water. The two shapes began to swim furiously, their labored breathing loud in the still night. Suddenly Matthew’s eyes opened wide with disbelief. “Catch them!” he whispered frantically. Already the frigid water seemed to be sapping the strength of the fleeing men. He grabbed his oar and began to paddle furiously. Another shot rang out behind them.
Peter sprang into action as well. Within a minute the boat had pulled alongside the two men still oblivious to their presence. Matthew waited until just the right moment, then reached down, and grabbed the lead man’s arm, hauling him onto the raft. Peter followed suit with the other one.
“Don’t talk,” Matthew commanded, throwing all his weight back into his oar. The next gunshot sounded much farther away. Soon, they could hear nothing except the slight breeze stirring the limbs and the call of an occasional goose.
Finally Matthew turned with a grin. “You can talk now, Captain Anderson.”
Anderson, gasping for breath, stared at him but didn’t move. “Wilson?” he finally whispered.
“We got him, too,” Matthew said. Anderson nodded then went limp. Both men were shivering violently, their hands and faces glowing a strange blue in the moonlight.
“Get their clothes off,” Peter ordered.
Matthew knelt beside Anderson, grimacing at the thin, wasted condition of his body. He had obviously had a much harder time reaching this point. He shuddered as he imagined what the two men must have endured since their escape. Soon he had several blankets wrapped around the freezing man. He glanced over. Wilson was wrapped up just as securely. “They need a fire,” Matthew said.
“We can’t risk stopping,” Peter protested. “Those woods are probably swarming with Rebel soldiers. It won’t take them long to find us if we build a fire.”
“You’re right,” Matthew growled. He moved over and began to rub Anderson’s hands. When they began to warm, he performed the same service for Wilson.
Peter continued to paddle them down the river, holding them close to shore. Matthew didn’t want to risk detection now, but he was afraid of what would happen to the two freezing men if they didn’t get warm soon. They had gone at least ten miles when he told Peter to pull over to a clear area along the bank.
“It’s not safe,” Peter protested.
“We are not going to let these men die,” Matthew said. “If it wasn’t for Anderson, we would all still be stuck back in Libby Prison. His heartbeat is slowing down. If he doesn’t get warm soon he’s going to die. The poor man is at the end of his rope.”
Without another word, Peter eased the raft over to shore.
Within a few minutes, Matthew had located a small, protected clearing in the woods and had a fire crackling. Then he returned to the boat and lifted Anderson with Matthew wincing again at how fragile Anderson’s body was. Peter followed closely with Wilson. They laid both men next to the fire. Matthew added sticks until the heat radiated throughout the whole clearing.
“What do we do now?” Peter whispered.
“We wait,” Matthew said, “That’s all we can do. You keep guard for an hour while I watch them, and then we’ll switch. If we hear anything, we put them on the raft and keep going.”
The sun was just casting a pink glow on the clouds when Anderson stirred, moaning softly. Matthew jumped to his feet.
Anderson moaned again, his eyes flickered open, and then closed again as if the effort was too much. Seconds later they fluttered open again. “Where…?”
“You’re with Peter and me,” Matthew told him, nodding to Peter who had just returned from watch, to bring him some tea they had kept warm on the fire.
“Mat-thew?” Anderson whispered, his face mirroring his confusion.
“You’re safe.” Matthew held Anderson’s shoulders up while Peter held the cup to his lips.
Anderson gulped the warm liquid. “How…?”
“We’ll explain everything later.”
Anderson shook his head, obviously struggling to clear it. “S-soldiers,” he stammered. “Everywhere.”
“They’re not here,” Matthew reassured him, hoping his words would be true a little while from then.
Wilson stirred, and soon the two men were drinking and eating everything Matthew and Peter put in front of them. Silent, Matthew thanked Opal for piling so much food on them. There would be four of them from now on.
Anderson finally shoved his plate aside. “We have to get out of here,” he insisted, his voice much clearer.
“You’re too weak,” Matthew protested.
A sudden muffled shout in the distance floated to them on the heavy morning air. Anderson staggered to his feet. “They’ve been after us for three days,” he croaked. “They’re not going to get me now.”
Matthew leaped to his feet and caught the captain just before he fell. He turned to Peter. “Leave the fire burning,” he ordered. “They’ll think they’ve just taken off over land.” Matthew flung Anderson over his shoulder and raced for the raft, Peter and Wilson just behind him. They were well downstream when they heard another shout – the campfire had been found.
Matthew gazed up at the sun. “We’ll make it.” He hoped he was telling the truth.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Moses had ju
st strapped his pistol to his waist and stuffed his haversack with biscuits when Pompey sauntered over.
“You goin’ somewhere?” Pompey eyed his preparations.
Moses nodded, his stomach churning. Impatiently he reached for his coat and tried to shove down his nervousness.
“You don’t act none too excited about it.”
Moses knew Pompey was giving him the invitation to talk without attempting to pry. He turned and sank down onto a log. Pompey followed suit. They had been back with Meade’s army for about a month and a half now. “I’ve been called out to join a special mission.” He still wondered what it was about it that bothered him so much. Pompey waited quietly. “I’m to ride with Colonel Dahlgren.”
Pompey frowned in concentration. “That the fellow who lose his leg at Gettysburg?”
“That’s him. He recovered, strapped a new right leg on, and is back in the saddle.” In spite of his uneasiness, Moses respected Dahlgren’s courage and determination. But something about the twenty-one year old colonel’s brash attitude bothered him. When Captain Jones had called him into the tent to me meet the colonel, Dahlgren had scanned him quickly, then shrugged. “He’ll do if I need a backup,” he had said brusquely. Moses had felt like a piece of meat being examined for sale.
Moses took a deep breath and crammed his hat on his head to shelter it from the rain that had been falling all day. A few degrees colder and the ground would be blanketed in snow. Moses would have preferred that to the bone-chilling wind enveloping him. “We’re headed to Richmond,” he said finally.
“Richmond?” Pompey echoed in surprise.
“General Kilpatrick and Colonel Dahlgren have cooked up a scheme to try to release the Union prisoners held there. Lincoln was in on it from the beginning. While we’re down there, he wants us to distribute flyers talking about the amnesty he’s offering Confederate soldiers.” He paused. “Seems they need some of Meade’s infantry to stage a little skirmish and gain Lee’s attention while several thousand of us cross over and head for the capital.”
