by Lyn Cote
“You’re not in charge here. Now for once do what you’re told.”
Faith stared at him, taking Honoree’s hand. She lowered her voice and leaned close so he could hear above the surrounding voices and noise. “Thee knows that we are volunteer nurses and thee has no real authority over us.”
His face flushed.
“Please do not embarrass thyself any further. Now either I go with her or Honoree stays here with me.”
Only hours after engagement, Dev watched the Rebs burn the bridge behind them. Flames shot skyward, white smoke boiling high. The sun blazed over them and the fire heated the air in undulating, transparent waves. Ash fell around him. Dev waited as some of his men gathered close.
“McClernand again?” one of them said with disgust.
Dev didn’t reply, but he felt the same. Grant had tried to prevent the Rebs from retreating to the fortified city, but the Union’s own General McClernand had failed to move quickly enough to stop Pemberton. Now the bridge over Black River was destroyed and the steamboat that had ferried all the live Rebs away also burned, sending flame and smoke skyward. Disgust roiled in Dev’s belly. Two incompetent officers, one on each side, had cost lives. Both were equally culpable in today’s slaughter. Pemberton should have gotten his troops across the river, then burned the bridge and steamboat to hinder the Union advance. No general worth his salt would back any of his men up against a natural obstruction. How many Rebs lay dead because of that foolish decision?
“Let’s regroup and see what casualties we’ve suffered,” Dev said, channeling his ire.
The few men around him nodded, their faces streaked with gunpowder and sweat. They turned and began threading their way through the wounded, picking out fallen comrades. Dev again thought of Faith. He did not like the idea of her facing this carnage. But stopping her was not his responsibility—on the contrary, he deemed it an impossibility.
A hand gripped his trouser leg. “Water.”
Dev dropped to his knee, opened his canteen, and helped the soldier drink. He surveyed the man and quickly devised a tourniquet for his leg. “The hospital wagons will come soon.” He squeezed the man’s shoulder and moved away, still searching for his own men.
The first of the Sanitary Commission wagons appeared on the eastern horizon. Dev scanned the nurses perched high on the benches. He thought he glimpsed the Quakeress’s distinctive bonnet. He hoped he was mistaken and she was back at the hospital.
Then he noticed one of his men lying nearby. Dev hurried to him and helped him sip water from his canteen. He did a cursory survey of the man. He appeared to be suffering from a saber slash that had cut through his scalp. Dev whipped off his neckerchief and tied up the man’s wound. “Help’s on the way.”
The man tried to speak but couldn’t.
“Lie still. I’ll stay with you till your head clears.”
The man closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.
Dev recalled the black girl’s dazed condition after the battle at Champion Hill. He scanned the field, spotting others of his men kneeling by comrades, as well as the nurses, now moving through the wounded, pausing with water and giving assistance.
Then Faith appeared beside Dev. Relief flooded him.
Without a word, she ran her hands over his comrade’s bandaged wound.
The man opened his eyes and mumbled.
“I don’t think he is severely injured. It would be best if thee would help him to rise slowly—” she put out her hand to guide Dev—“in stages. Sitting, then kneeling, and so on. Assist him to the wagons or help him back to camp.”
“Our horses are near,” Dev said.
Another of his men approached with a horse as if he’d overheard them. “I’ll help you get him up, sir.”
Dev put an arm around the wounded man and slowly shifted him to a sitting position.
Faith lifted off the dressing Dev had applied to the man’s head wound and poured something out of a vial from her pocket. “I’m using this to clean the wound.” Then, prodding the skin together, she expertly and tightly bandaged the slash. “That will do for now. He may need stitches, but the more seriously wounded will take precedence.”
The man moaned but seemed to be coming back to himself. “My head.”
Dev helped him to his knees and then to his feet, supporting him for a moment. Soon he and the other man lifted him to lie across the saddle.
“Your horse is over there, sir,” the cavalryman said, motioning toward a copse of trees where a private remained with the few horses that hadn’t yet been claimed.
“See this man back to the camp hospital, Corporal,” Dev ordered.
The man saluted and led the laden horse away.
Faith had already moved several feet away from him, kneeling beside a man who was screaming uncontrollably and thrashing. He nearly knocked Faith off her feet.
Dev hurried over to help her. He dropped down across from her and grasped the man’s waving arms.
“He is out of his mind with pain,” Faith said. She slipped another vial from her pocket and put it to the man’s lips. She managed to dribble some of the dark liquid into him. “Laudanum,” she murmured.
Within a few minutes he calmed enough for her to examine him. Dev watched as she shut her eyes for a moment as if gathering strength, then reopened them. She looked at Dev and shook her head. She rose and moved away.
The action was so unlike her that Dev didn’t follow for a few beats, but then he jumped to his feet and caught up with her.
She leaned toward him. “His wounds were abdominal. I hope the laudanum will send him into unconsciousness so he won’t suffer more. There are others I may still be able to help.”
Dev absorbed this like a jab to his own midsection. He hadn’t realized that this young lady was forced to make these kinds of judgments.
She didn’t wait for him but moved on.
He felt compelled to follow her. Someone had to help her.
Several hours passed. Finally Dev and Faith’s multiple canteens were empty. She rose and stumbled.
He caught her arm. “We need water too.” He glanced toward the river.
“That water will be defiled with blood and worse. Come to the wagon. They have well water in barrels.” She led him away.
“I must check on my horse.” He turned and strode toward the copse of trees.
Dev told the private there to go back to camp with both their mounts and see to them. Then he hurried to the nearest Sanitary Commission wagon and found Faith and Honoree nearby. Both were filling canteens. The sound of trickling water brought his thirst rushing to the surface.
She turned and took his canteen from him and filled it. “Drink what thee needs.”
She paused in her duties and lifted her own canteen to her lips. “We must keep ourselves watered or we will be unable to help others. Thee is staying?”
He swallowed. “Yes.”
“Thee sustained no hurt but this?” She touched his cheek.
He winced and reached up to touch where she had. “Must have been grazed. Lucky again.”
“I do not believe in luck. I believe in Providence.” She wet a handkerchief and dabbed at his cheek.
He knew he should object. It was such a small wound and so many injured soldiers were spread out around them, but her touch was so gentle he could not break away. Then she dabbed some oil on it from another vial in her pocket. “Let us fill the rest of my canteens.”
He took them from her and began using the dipper to fill them.
She smiled and turned to the wagoneer. “I need some more bandages, please. And I forgot hardtack.”
Soon the two of them were supplied with what they needed. Faith looked to him. “Remember, thee can go back at any time. Thee did thy part already.”
He nodded. “I know. Let’s begin.”
She smiled then, and a warmth that had nothing to do with the Mississippi summer burst inside him.
Well into the night, Dev caught Faith’s arm again
when she stumbled.
“I’m out of everything,” she told him.
“Let’s go to the wagons, then.”
“Yes.”
She allowed him to take her arm. Ahead, Dev glimpsed Honoree already slumped in the back of the nearest wagon.
“I’m glad you two are ready to go,” the wagoneer greeted them gruffly. “I’ve got a full load and must leave.”
Faith wobbled on the step up to the high wagon bench.
Dev picked her up and lifted her onto the bench. He sat down, still holding her.
“That’s a good idea,” the driver said. “I’m always afraid she’s going to fall off.”
Faith shook her head and slipped out of Dev’s arms.
The wagon shifted under them as the driver turned it toward camp. In the darkness Dev slipped a protective arm around Faith’s waist. He expected her to object, but she made no demur. To be able to help this selfless woman even in this small way gave him a satisfaction he’d never known.
He remembered her request then about going to a plantation to seek the girl Shiloh. The possibility of finding Honoree’s sister was almost nonexistent, like the proverbial needle in a haystack—and in the middle of a war. He shook his head. Women could be so unrealistic.
Yet being close to her, even under these conditions, made him feel something he barely recognized, something tender and protective and for her alone. If only they weren’t in the midst of a war, a war he wouldn’t survive.
AT THE BREAK of the next day, Dev and the other cavalry officers gathered to receive orders from Brigadier General Osterhaus at his tent. Grant had the Confederates on the run, and he was determined to halt them before they reached Vicksburg, high on the bluff above the Mississippi River. Today promised to be as hot and uncomfortable as the last. But in the cool of the morning, Dev listened to the orders and then turned to leave the tent and go to his men.
Thoughts of Faith tried to break his concentration. He forced them away. He had to be about his business, and his business was war. Near the horse corral and tents, he gathered his company leaders and issued them their orders about the push to stop the Confederates. After losing so many men and horses in the past two days, their mood appeared very grim, but that was to be expected. Along with them, Dev mounted and headed toward the front, toward the Black River. Somehow they must cross it and catch up with the Rebs.
A sense of urgency tingled through him, and he could sense it in the men around him. If they didn’t stop the Rebs before they reached the city, who knew how long Vicksburg could hold out in a state of siege? Sieges were nasty business.
The crack of gunfire. One of his men dropped from the saddle. A bushwhacker was near. Another of his men paused to help their wounded comrade while the rest of their companies spread out in the high grass, leaning low over their horses. Dev focused his attention. We must get the Rebs.
In her tent, Faith rose and felt as if she’d been struck by a train. This march to Vicksburg was pushing them all to their limits. Then, unaccountably, a sweet sensation overcame her, the memory of the colonel lifting her in his arms last night.
On her way to the washbowl and pitcher, she stopped and let the memory spread through her. For those few fleeting moments, she’d wanted to nestle deeper into his strength and stay there. But of course she’d resisted and he’d set her on the wagon bench, thereafter only steadying her as they negotiated the bumpy road.
Already dressed for the day, Honoree glanced in through the tent opening. “You just going to stand there all day?” she asked with a tart edge to her voice.
Faith smiled ruefully and moved to the basin of tepid water to freshen up. So many newly wounded needed them, and though Honoree tried to hide behind gruffness how much she cared about their patients, she never deceived Faith. “It was very thoughtful of Armstrong to set up our tent last night,” Faith said, changing the subject.
“He is considerate and knows our work keeps us going till dark or after,” Honoree agreed. “We need to get to breakfast and to the camp hospital.”
Faith heard the urgency in her friend’s voice and quickly brushed her hair, braided it, and coiled it under her cap. “Let’s be off then.” When they left their tent, they found young Ella waiting outside to walk with them on their way to the hospital tent. Faith invited her to join them for breakfast at the mess tent for medical staff, which was bending the rules. But the girl helped them and deserved at least a good breakfast.
For a moment the number of wounded men—thousands in just the past few days—threatened to overwhelm her. She forced herself to reflect on one of her favorite psalms: “God is my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” She could not survive on her ability alone. God, fill me with thy enduring power.
After breakfast, when they reached the hospital tents, Armstrong was waiting outside one of them. “Good morning, ladies.”
Honoree tried to hide her beaming smile. And failed. Faith hid her understanding grin, relishing the idea that her friend might have found love in the midst of war. Faith shied away once more from thinking of the colonel. Yet again he would be at the forefront, in danger every moment. Her pulse sped up.
Ella paused just ahead of them at the hospital tent, looking somewhat confused by Armstrong’s presence.
“I came to offer my services.” Armstrong held up a hand to stop any objection. “The days are long and my duties slim. I’m here to fetch and carry and lift.”
“Thank thee.” Faith accepted his hand and shook it. “Come.”
Ella stopped Faith with a hand on her sleeve. “Miss Faith?”
“What is it, Ella McCullough?”
Armstrong and Honoree proceeded into the hospital.
Ella waited and then asked right by Faith’s ear, “Why did you shake hands with that colored man?”
Faith sighed silently. “I did so because I was grateful for his offer of help.”
“But whites don’t shake hands with coloreds.”
Faith pressed her lips together. “Ella, thee noticed the first time we spoke that I am a Quaker. Many Quakers treat people of color as lesser, but my family never did. Honoree and I grew up together, almost as cousins.”
Ella stared at her. “It ain’t right. Blacks and whites don’t mix. They got their place and we got ours.”
Faith decided she would gain nothing with further persuasion. The majority of whites north and south would echo what Ella had just stated. “We need to go in and relieve the night nurses.”
Ella nodded and followed Faith inside.
Limp with fatigue, the night nurses could barely relay information about their new patients. Faith and Honoree began their rounds, Ella helping as much as she could.
The army had moved, leaving behind the hospital near Jackson and their patients there. But the new fighting had produced many new patients here. And no end in sight.
Ella managed to draw near to Faith. “Can I ask you—is that black man courtin’ Honoree?”
Faith smiled. “I don’t know if he is, but I think he might like to.”
Ella shook her head. “Maybe that’s best. Honoree won’t have to worry about him.”
Faith understood. Ella had a young husband to worry about, and she … she had someone to worry about as well, much as it pained her to admit it. Then she heard gunfire in the distance.
More killing today.
More dying today.
More wounded today.
For a moment she was drowning. She gasped for God. His peace did not come. Or was it there, and she just couldn’t receive it? She envisioned the colonel riding toward danger.
God, please help.
When Dev and his company reached the Black River again, the question of how to cross its depth had already been assessed and addressed. The army engineers were busy building a bridge to cross the river on what looked like bales of cotton.
The engineers waved to them, and soon his men had dismounted and were moving through the water with the cotton bales, se
tting them where told to and then laying sheeting over them. Dev had a hard time believing what he, a cavalry officer, was doing. But cotton was all the engineers had to work with, and he wouldn’t order his men to work while he stood by, idly watching.
Bushwhackers kept up the pressure, so they worked hunched over, giving less of a target but with their backs aching. Finally the bridge was completed. Holding their firearms and ammunition belts over their heads, Dev and his company chose to swim their horses across. They must get to the other side and root out the snipers or make them flee.
Grant needed the cavalry to be his eyes, needed them to relay information about Pemberton’s actions. Grant must halt the enemy. Or they’d suffer a siege in the steamy heat of a Mississippi summer. Dev nearly despaired.
Then he thought of Faith. He saw her again, moving among the wounded to the point of collapse. Quick action could save lives. Determination flooded him. “Spread out! And keep your heads down!”
VICKSBURG, MISSISSIPPI
MAY 23, 1863
Grant hadn’t prevented the Rebs from reaching Vicksburg. The dreaded siege had begun. Now the noise of the daily artillery barrage aimed at the city ceased for the evening meal. The pattern had been set. Three times a day the almost-constant barrage halted for meals.
A numbed Faith, her senses battered, sat in the hospital mess tent on a hard bench and tried to drink yet another cup of wretched coffee. The Union forces surrounding a besieged Vicksburg—what they and no doubt the Confederates had dreaded most.
As usual she sat at the colored table with Honoree and the workers hired from the contraband camp. She refused to observe the degrading separation.
“How long this shellin’ gon’ last?” asked the large laundress Faith had hired near the Jackson depot.
“As long as it must to break the Rebs in Vicksburg and take control of the Mississippi,” Honoree replied.
“The Confederates won’t be able to get any help from the West, then, or any trade through New Orleans,” Faith added.
The others at the table nodded solemnly.
In the two days after the Confederates had reached the cover of Vicksburg, General Grant had attempted to rush them, shake them from the city while they were demoralized from their defeat. The onslaught had failed at dreadful cost. Thousands more soldiers had been killed or wounded.
