by Ginny Dye
“Dismount, men,” Dahlgren called. “We’ll take a short break before we press forward to victory.” His men cheered and moved eagerly to find some kind of shelter from the rain. Horses dropped their heads and turned their backs to the rain.
Moses leaned against a tree and munched on a biscuit even though he had lost his appetite. The episode today had pointed out to him once more, in graphic detail, just how far his people still had to go. They may have been mustered into the army out of dire need, but too many people still saw them only as animals, expendable when they were in the way or of no use. He fought to control the bitterness swelling in his heart, knowing it would serve no purpose. Giving in to bitterness would only mean another victory for Dahlgren. His determination to help change things for his people forged into solid steel. One day this war would be over. Then the real battle would start. Not the battle for a country – but the battle for equal rights for the blacks of America.
“Mount up!”
Moses scrambled to his feet as the order rang through the night. It was time. The five miles passed quickly as the road fell away before their horses’ galloping hooves. Moses knew they must be approaching the outskirts of the city.
A sudden burst of gunfire split the night.
“Forward, men!” Dahlgren shouted.
Moses leaned low over his mount’s neck and surged forward, his gun drawn and ready. There was sporadic firing, then silence.
“Drove right through them,” one man crowed. “Richmond is ours!”
Robert saw the line of men running toward them in the night. He stepped out in front of them and held up his hand. “Who goes there?” he called.
A young boy, barely fifteen by the looks of him, stopped and stared up at him wildly. “They’re coming. They pushed right through our lines.”
Colonel Lee strode up. “How far back are they?” he snapped.
“Not far,” the boy gasped.
Lee put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing a fine job, son. We’re going to stop them here. Line up with our men. Make sure your gun is loaded.”
Robert watched as the fear faded from the boy’s eyes, and his shoulders straightened with renewed confidence.
“Yes, sir!”
Lee turned to the men awaiting his orders. “This is it, men. We stop them here.”
A cheer rose in response to his words, then a grim silence descended. Robert exchanged a somber glance with Thomas and then took up his position beside him. He knew exactly how outnumbered they were. All he could hope was that the officer leading the Union cavalry didn’t have that information. Tonight, the darkness was their friend.
The sound of thudding hoof beats broke the silence. Robert stiffened, his gun in a ready position. He felt the proximity of the troopers before he actually saw them in the misty night.
“Fire!” Colonel Lee roared.
The explosion of gunfire rang out in unison. The charge stopped abruptly. Sharp gunfire erupted from the Federal lines, but Lee had chosen fine defensive positions for his men. The Local Defense unit continued to pepper the cavalrymen with deadly gunfire. Robert could see men falling, their guns clattering to the ground.
“Retreat!”
“We stopped them!” Thomas called triumphantly as the troopers turned, then dashed back into the darkness, followed by the rousing cheers of the Local Defense.
“They were counting on surprise.” Robert watched the last dim shapes disappear. “We spoiled it for them.”
“Will he try again?” asked a young boy close by.
“I don’t think so,” Robert said. “He was counting on the element of surprise. Now that it has been spoiled for him, I think he will concentrate on getting his men out. From the sound of things, the attack against the northern line was repulsed as well.” He nodded with satisfaction. “We stopped them.”
Moses watched several men fall around him. He ducked as he felt a bullet whiz by inches from his head. He was firing, but in the darkness he really had no idea what he was firing at.
“Retreat!”
Moses clutched his rifle, spun his horse quickly, and urged him into a gallop, glad to leave the blistering gunfire. Their attack had hardly been a secret. It was obvious the city had been forewarned and was waiting for them. He heard Dahlgren cursing, but he felt no sympathy for him. The man deserved whatever he got. It was the men following him that deserved the sympathy.
As they rode, the rain turned into a stinging snowstorm. Moses pulled his coat closer and yanked his hat further down over his eyes. His mind turned to the dead guide. Had anyone found him? Had some of the slaves returned to cut his body down? Somehow he didn’t think so. Their terror had been complete. They would have started running as soon as they were out of sight. They wouldn’t stop until they had reached the plantations they started from.
“We’ll be lucky if we get out of here alive,” the trooper trudging beside him grumbled. “General Lee himself is probably headed this direction.”
“Why weren’t we told the city was so well defended?” the one behind him added. “That had to have been a regular line of infantry we ran into back there. I wonder how many of our men we lost?”
“All I want to know,” another chimed in, “is how we’re going to get out of this mess. We can’t just waltz back through Lee’s lines.”
“We’re headed east,” Moses said. “I think the colonel is taking us to Fort Monroe.”
“We have any chance of getting there,” another trooper asked, “before we freeze to death?”
Moses would have chuckled if he wasn’t still gripped by the horror of the hanging. He merely shrugged. “Good a chance as any, I guess. It will take us about two hard days of riding to get there.”
“Great,” a soldier groaned. “I wonder if I’ll still be able to feel my body by then?”
Moses grimly hoped that he couldn’t. He clearly remembered the pimpled, blond-haired kid’s cheers when the guide was lynched. He clinched his teeth and stared straight ahead. He had to keep his thoughts to himself.
The long night passed slowly. The snow continued to drive at them mercilessly, icy pellets hitting their bodies and driving into their faces. Moses kept his hat pulled as low as possible, but it was impossible to completely protect his head. To make the time pass, he thought of Rose and John. He could envision them in their little cabin huddled beside the fireplace on a night like tonight. He longed to be there to hold John, to put him to bed, to watch his little body snuggle down into the blanket.
He shook his head. He had to think of something else before the longing for what he couldn’t have consumed him. He was holding on to the hope they were indeed headed to Fort Monroe, and that he would have a chance to see his family before he returned to his men. In spite of the late snowstorm, spring wasn’t far away. The year’s new campaign would start soon. Just a glimpse of his wife and new son would make it a little easier to bear another long separation.
A sudden shout in the distance caused him to jerk his head up. Pushing his hat back, he tried to see into the blinding snow. The sharp report of guns floated back to him on the breeze. He frowned, unsure of what to do.
“What’s going on up there?” a soldier shouted.
They all plowed to a halt as the sound of gunfire continued. Minutes later a trooper, his head bare and his coat stained with blood, raced by them. “It’s an ambush!” he yelled. “They’ve killed Dahlgren. Most of the men are surrounded.” Whipping his horse, he disappeared into the night.
“Let’s get out of here!” two of the men surrounding Moses yelled. They turned abruptly and disappeared into the driving snow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Moses watched the two terrified men disappear. He pitied them; they had no idea where they were and no idea where they were going. They would be hopelessly lost in the snowstorm in just minutes. He took several deep breaths and tried to think clearly. The gunfire had stopped, so there was no pitched battle taking place. He had been riding near the end of the col
umn, and now he found himself completely alone. The snow was falling heavier, deep drifts lining the road.
Carefully he considered his options. He could charge ahead to see what had actually happened, or he could do what many others had done and simply disappear into the snow, hoping for the best. Moses had an advantage over most of them. He wouldn’t have to head much farther east before he would be in familiar territory. He scowled, wishing he could see through the thick whiteness surrounding him. Had Dahlgren really been killed? Why was there no shooting?
Moses sat quietly for several minutes, then, with a wistful glance east, he swung off his horse and looped the reins over a nearby branch. He couldn’t just ride off without knowing what had happened. There was little chance his presence would make any difference, but he had to know. Slipping quietly through the woods, eyeing landmarks keenly so he wouldn’t get lost himself, he edged forward, every sense alert. He felt their presence before he actually spotted the three Confederate soldiers mounted on their horses just below a slight rise. Moses froze and sank down slowly until he was level with the ground. Heart pounding, he tried to discern his next move.
“You reckon there’s any more of them out there?” one soldier asked, his voice floating dimly through the snow.
“If there are, they’re lucky,” another scoffed. “We’ve got over a hundred men surrounded up there. That fellow leading them is deader than a skinned possum. We’ll be escorting them boys to prison in the morning.”
Moses bit his lip when he heard of Dahlgren’s death. He tried to feel sorry, but he could still see the guide swaying from the end of the rope. He couldn’t help feeling justice had been done. Dahlgren had schemed up an impressive plan – a brilliant one if it had worked. But it had failed miserably. The dashing colonel was dead.
“They were plumb crazy thinking they could just waltz right in and take our city. I heard they were hoping to free the prisoners. Looks like them boys just added to the number.”
Moses had heard enough. Dahlgren’s men were surrounded. There was nothing he could do. Suddenly a limb, concealed by the snow, snapped under his heavy weight. Moses cringed and froze.
“What’s that!” one of the soldiers yelled.
“Probably nothing,” another guard replied. “But just in case…” A shot rang out. Moses sucked in his breath as a bullet landed just feet from where he stood. He knew the snow was too thick for the men to see him. It was just a lucky shot. He remained still, knowing any movement might give his position away. Ten minutes passed - long minutes when his feet started to turn numb and his hands hurt from the cold.
“Told you it wasn’t anything,” the soldier called again. The three resumed talking.
Moses waited another few minutes then melted into the darkness. When he reached his horse, he swung into the saddle and headed east. He would head for Fort Monroe.
Anger had replaced the panic that had gripped Richmond during the Union threat.
Thomas strode into the house and threw down the newest edition of the newspaper. For once, Carrie understood his anger and quite agreed with it. She had been shocked when the news had come forth about the letter found on Colonel Dahlgren’s body after his death.
“The paper has finally published a complete copy of the letter Dahlgren was carrying,” Thomas said. “Let me read it to you.” Then he coughed, almost doubling over.
Carrie reached over and picked up the paper. “I’ll read it. You’re still trying to recover from that nasty cold you picked up out there on the road.”
“Just read the underlined parts,” Thomas replied. “I wanted you and Robert to hear them.”
Carrie nodded, put down her coffee, and began to read.
“You have been selected from brigades and regiments as a picked command to attempt a desperate undertaking – an undertaking which, if successful, will write your names on the hearts of your countrymen that can never be released…
Many of you may fall, but if there is any man here not willing to sacrifice his life in such a grand and glorious undertaking…”
Thomas grunted in disdain, and Robert shook his head.
“…or who does not feel capable of meeting the enemy in such a desperate fight as will follow, let him step out, and he may go hence to the arms of his sweetheart, and read of the brave who swept through the city of Richmond.
We hope to release the prisoners from Belle Island first, and, having seen them fairly started, we will cross the James River into Richmond, destroying the bridges after us, and exhorting the released prisoners to destroy and burn the hateful city, and not to allow the Rebel leader, Davis, and his traitorous crew to escape.”
Carrie slammed the paper down. “I think they were going too far.”
“Finish reading what I underlined,” her father urged. “There is more.”
Carrie searched until she found it. “Once the prisoners are loose and over the river, the bridges will be secured and the city destroyed. The men must keep together and well in hand, and once in the city it must be destroyed, and Jeff Davis and his cabinet killed.”
“What will happen?” Carrie asked when she finished reading. She knew the whole city was in an uproar.
Robert wiped his mouth then put down his napkin. “The city is demanding reprisal, of course. They want some of Dahlgren’s men put to death as a warning to the Federal government that we won’t sit back and let things like this happen.”
“Didn’t General Lee send a letter in response to all this?” Thomas asked.
“Yes. He agreed the papers should be published so the whole world could know the kind of war being waged against us. He wanted attention brought to the atrocious acts they are plotting and trying to perpetrate.” He paused. “He also said he would not recommend the execution of the prisoners that have been taken because these papers can only be considered evidence of Dahlgren’s intentions. There is no clear indication as to how much his men knew of the full scope of the plan. They were merely following orders.”
“Are we going to execute these men?” Carrie asked. As angry as she was, there had already been too much killing. Simply adding to it would accomplish nothing.
Thomas shook his head. “Most of Davis’ advisers recommended that at least some of the raiders be put to death, but David resisted. He was backed up by Lee who still has a son in Yankee hands. I think they both fear even more brutal reprisal.”
“So we do nothing.” Robert sighed. “Except be glad they were unable to carry out their plan.”
“It’s not that simple,” Thomas said. “In a war that has already changed a great deal, I foresee an even darker future.
Carrie grimaced. Her father wasn’t being bitter. He was simply stating facts the way he saw them. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“From the beginning of the war, many in the South have believed Lincoln personally provoked the war. He has been an easy target of blame for each new escalation of casualties and cruelty. It doesn’t really matter who wrote those papers – the effect is the same. When you take into consideration the threats that have already been made against Davis…”
“Like the fire in his cellar,” Carrie interrupted. “Or the attempt to shoot him just before Christmas.”
“There have been rumors of other plots as well,” Thomas said. “Davis is convinced Lincoln has approved a new level of warfare.”
“One that includes arson, pillage, and assassination,” Robert finished.
“The war is simply becoming more vicious and inhumane as it drags on,” Carrie murmured in dismay. “Is there any way for it to end?”
Thomas shrugged. “I’ve heard of new steps being taken. Davis and his cabinet have already approved covert operations to encourage the anti-war underground in the North. They have just authorized five million dollars for that purpose.”
“But why?” Carrie asked, confused.
“If they can cause enough terror in the North, it may strengthen the peace movement there,” Robert answered.
“
Davis hopes it can swing several northwestern states away from reelecting Lincoln in the fall.”
Carrie listened quietly. “How then can we condemn what Dahlgren has done when our government is making plans to do the same kinds of things?” She didn’t expect an answer.
Matthew and Peter oared the raft ashore and then held it steady while Anderson and Wilson clambered off. The James River had become extremely wide, with the trees scattered too randomly to offer any real protection. They had decided during the night to go the rest of the way on foot.
“Maybe we’re close enough to Union lines that the Rebs will stay away,” Peter said hopefully.
Matthew glanced over at Anderson and Wilson. In spite of two days of rest and plenty of food, they were still too weak to put up much of an escape attempt if they were pursued now. Their strength had been exhausted in the mad rush that had deposited them in the frigid waters of the James River. “Let’s hope so,” he said.
Anderson seemed to read his thoughts. “I think you two should go on without us. We’ll just slow you down.”
Matthew snorted. “We left Libby Prison together. We will reach Fort Monroe together,” Matthew said. “We’ve gotten this far. We’ll make it the rest of the way just fine.”
“How far do we have left?” Wilson asked in a weak voice.
“I don’t know for sure,” Matthew admitted.
“Well,” Anderson said, drawing a deep breath. “I suppose there is only one way to find out.” He strode forward and then glanced over his shoulder. “Are the rest of you coming?”
Matthew grinned and sprang to catch up with him.
They had walked for only two hours when it became obvious Wilson needed a rest. He had been sick in the prison shortly before the escape. The harrowing experiences he had suffered since then had rendered him just a shell of the man he had been when Matthew first met him.
