Souls Aflame

by Patricia Hagan

  Derek sat at the splintery wood table in the shadows of one of Wilmington’s crudest waterfront saloons. His head nodded slightly from too much to drink, too little sleep. He had sat back and watched two brawls. In one, a seaman had gotten his throat slit from ear to ear. No one had bothered to sop up the thick pools of blood where his body lay for perhaps an hour before it was finally dragged outside.

  How long had he been there? Hell, he didn’t know. Didn’t care, for that matter. He was tired. He wanted to be left alone. The last whore that had wagged her tail at him had been chased off by a string of obscenities, so the word had spread. No one was bothering him, and that was just the way he wanted it.

  The bottle of rum before him was empty. Derek shouted into the din of arguing voices and laughter in the direction of the bartender, but the man did not look up. Derek picked up his bottle and sent it sailing through the air, and when it crashed against the wall, the bartender got his message. He came hurrying over with another bottle, reaching out to set it on the table, straining, not wanting to get too close, then backed away quickly.

  Derek pulled out the cork and lifted the bottle to his lips, laughing. Everything was getting blurry. No matter. Nothing mattered. Not anymore.

  He looked back over the past months and wondered drunkenly why he was even alive. Returning to Richmond to find Julie had taken off without him had been quite a blow. Then, when he learned her brother had been broken out of the Black Hole, it hadn’t taken much to figure out what happened. She had guile, and she obviously knew how to wrap men around her dainty little finger and make them dance to her tune. Took off with a Confederate major, that’s what he’d managed to get out of Opal.

  He stared down into the amber liquid of the bottle. It wasn’t amber at all. It was green…green like the murky depths of the ocean…green like those damned eyes that turned his heart inside out, and he hated admitting it…green…Julie’s beautiful green eyes. His head lolled forward, and he felt sick.

  Her body, God, how he’d loved possessing her, touching every inch of that smooth silky skin with his tongue and lips. Perfection. Beauty. Charm. She had it all, and he’d been a fool to let her get under his skin. But no more!

  His sharp laugh caused the two men sitting at a nearby table to look at him curiously, but a sharp glare from Derek’s glittering black eyes made them return to their own affairs. No one wanted a quarrel with him this night. Hell, no. Pity the poor fool who dared cross his path.

  If he hadn’t gotten involved in the attempt to rout the Yankees from New Bern, North Carolina, maybe he would have gotten back to Richmond in time. But he was first of all, he reminded himself as he had done then, a seaman. He had been summoned by Commander John Taylor Wood himself, an aide to President Davis, and told about the plan.

  General Lee had written President Davis early in January that it was time for an attempt to be made to capture the enemy’s forces at New Bern, that it had to be done. There were a lot of provisions and supplies there that were needed by the Confederate Army, and Lee also wanted that part of the country to be accessible. It had been under Yankee control too long, he said.

  Commander Wood told Derek about how the President approved of Lee’s plan and suggested he take command of the operation himself, but Lee was hesitant about it and said he thought Robert F. Hoke of North Carolina was the man for the job. Davis didn’t think so. Hoke was only a brigadier general, and he felt an officer of higher rank was needed to take on such a big campaign. So Major General George E. Pickett was selected, and then President Davis chose his own aide, Commander Wood, to command the cooperating naval force.

  And Wood had called in Derek when he heard he was in Wilmington, and asked him to go along. Derek could not find it in himself to refuse, and he also figured the whole operation wouldn’t delay his return to Richmond by more than a few days; at the most, a week.

  Derek took another drink from the bottle. It was so clear to him now, that morning of January 30, when about thirteen thousand men and seven navy cutters were concentrated in Kingston, moving in the direction of New Bern. General S. M. Barton, commanding one of the divisions, was directed to cross the Trent River near Trenton, moving along the south side to Brice’s Creek below New Bern. After crossing the creek, he was to take the forts along the Neuse River and go into New Bern by way of the railroad bridge.

  Colonel James Dearing’s cavalry was given the task of capturing Fort Anderson, situated north of New Bern. General Pickett, with Hoke’s brigade and the remainder of the force, planned to advance from the west along the Dover Road. The simultaneous attack by all three columns on the defenses of New Bern was planned for that Monday morning, February 1, 1864.

  Commander Wood had been ordered to engage the gunboats at New Bern, then to cooperate with the land forces in their attack on the city.

  So, carrying out the plan, General Pickett drove in the Federal outpost at Batchelder’s Creek. Then, after crossing the stream about ten miles west of the target city, he moved his command to within a mile of it and stopped to wait for the sound of General Barton’s guns from the other side of the Trent River.

  And he had waited all day in vain, Derek recalled sadly, because on Tuesday, General Barton sent word that the works at Brice’s Creek were too strong to attack, that he’d made no advance and did not intend to.

  Then Colonel Dearing, who was supposed to capture Fort Anderson, reported he had found the Federal fortifications on his front much too powerful to storm.

  So, faced with the certain failure of two of his columns, General Pickett withdrew his forces and his plan to attack New Bern.

  At least, Derek smiled with satisfaction, Commander Wood’s naval operations had not been a complete loss. In fact, he felt mighty damn proud to have been handpicked by this daring officer to take part in his venturesome plan. They had dropped down the Neuse River from Kingston and slipped on board the Federal steamer Underwriter, which was anchored at New Bern.

  Oh, it had been a bitter hand-to-hand fight with the ship’s crew, all right. Derek lost count of the number of men he personally sent to their graves, and he himself had taken a knife’s blade in his lower ribs, which still pained him. And the patch he wore over his right eye was the result of the blow from a gun butt. A doctor had told him to wear the patch to rest the eye, for he had received a serious injury there. In time, he had been told, it would, he hoped, heal.

  But they had won the battle, by God, and they were making preparations to move the Underwriter when they realized there wasn’t enough steam in the boilers to get underway. Things were complicated by harassing fire from a nearby fort, so Commander Wood said there was nothing to do but burn their “prize” and head for home. Which they had done. Even though the captured ship had to be destroyed, the fact that it was captured had been the only good thing to come out of the ill-fated expedition.

  By the time Derek got his affairs in order, rounded up the men and money he needed, and returned to Richmond, Julie was gone.

  Commander Wood had tried to talk him into going back to the sea, but for some reason he could not explain, even to himself, Derek did not want to take on a ship again. He did not want to attempt to run the Federal blockade any longer.

  And he hated himself for the strange feelings that flowed through his body. Dammit, the blasted war was exploding, and he was needed, and he believed in the southern cause. So why was he turning into a sot? Each night he tried to find the answer to his misery in the amber liquid of the bottle, but his days were wretched, for he was filled with self-loathing and contempt.

  Derek’s fingers gripped the bottle, and had he not felt the contents sloshing in it and realized foggily that he would be wasting over half his rum, he would have sent it, too, smashing against the wall in frustration.

  He felt the two men staring at him again. And he didn’t like it. He was bigger and stronger than most men, and he shied away from fighting, proud of the fact that his ominous figure usually caused a would-be rowdy to back away.
But now he was drunk, and those two had been sneaking glances in his direction all evening.

  He’d had enough.

  Suddenly he jerked his head up to look at them and snarled, “What the hell do you sons of bitches think you’re looking at? I don’t like to be stared at. Now get the hell out of here!”

  He had decided beforehand that if they did not immediately run for their lives, he would be bullish enough to start a brawl. Hell, he felt like hitting somebody, something, anything…to get the gnawing feeling out of his gut.

  But surprisingly, the skinny one, who looked as though he had been to hell and back, gazed at him with sad yet hopeful eyes and politely asked, “Are you Captain Arnhardt?”

  Derek blinked, jerked his head back as he tried to focus his eyes. “Who the hell wants to know?”

  “May we speak with you, sir?” the other man asked.

  Derek’s head bobbed as he looked him over. Even though the stranger was smaller than he was, Derek figured he looked healthy enough to give a good account of himself if all this came to a fight. The confusing part, Derek thought, was why they were pussyfooting around with all the soft talk.

  “What do you want to talk to me for?” Derek demanded. “I told you—I’m sick of your staring. Get the hell out of here before I bust your heads—both of you…”

  The two of them got to their feet and came toward him.

  Well, Derek took a deep breath, this was it. It’d been a long time since he’d been in a barroom brawl, but maybe he needed this to let off a little steam. Maybe it would make him feel better.

  “It’s about Julie Marshal.”

  A gray mist settled about him. He shook himself. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. About now, chairs should be flying through the air and fists smashing against flesh. So why the hell wasn’t it happening that way?

  He was dimly aware that the two men were sitting down at his table. He tried to focus his eyes but the misty fog was still there, and through it drifted the voice of the skinny man. “Julie is my sister, Captain Arnhardt. My name is Myles Marshal.”

  With great effort, Derek forced his vision to clear, his brain to stop spinning. Leaning forward, he stared into the young man’s face, searching for Julie in it.

  “We don’t look alike,” he laughed nervously. “I mean, of course we aren’t identical twins, but we are twins, and I assure you I’m telling the truth.”

  “I’m Thomas Carrigan, a cousin.” The other one spoke, and Derek’s eyes moved to him. “We’ve been looking for you for weeks, and thank God we’ve found you.”

  Derek looked back at Myles, cursing himself because the fog was settling about him again. He wanted his head clear so he could find out what the devil this was all about. “Julie got you out?” he asked, his words slurred.

  “Yes. But now she’s in trouble…”

  That was the last Derek heard before his head hit the table with a jerking thud. The hammer of drink had finally hit.

  When he awoke, he was in a strange room, lying in an unfamiliar bed. He wondered dizzily which woman he had gone home with. There had been the redhead with the small teats, and the yellow-haired one with the big teats. He had liked them both, and he’d had them both in the past, but it had not been his intent to lay with a woman last night.

  And then he saw them.

  They were sitting at a table by the window, watching him intently. Slowly, it was coming back. His mouth felt like it was packed with cotton, and his stomach rumbled precariously. He felt as if he was going to be sick.

  “Coffee.” The skinny one walked toward him, carrying a steaming tin cup in his bony hand. “We figured it was about time for you to wake up. That was some drunk you tied on. You were pretty far gone when we arrived, and we weren’t sure how to approach you.”

  The other one grinned wryly. “We were warned it’s best to leave you alone these days. Maybe now we can talk if you feel up to it.”

  Derek propped himself up on one elbow and took the coffee gratefully. It was hot, but it felt good sliding down into his empty stomach. Maybe he would live after all, he decided. A few more sips, and he was able to say, “All right. I’m listening.”

  They took turns telling the story of Julie’s plight. Myles finished by saying, “We’ve got to find her and help her, and you’re the only person we knew to come to. We know she was with you last.”

  “Yes.” Thomas added quickly. “I was able to pick up the information from Major Fox’s men that you had left her in a bawdy house in Richmond, and she got tired of waiting.”

  “That’s Julie,” Myles grinned fondly. “She always was impatient.”

  Derek ran his fingers through his beard thoughtfully. So! Julie had gotten herself into a peck of trouble—all because she was so goddamned headstrong and stubborn she couldn’t let him take charge. No, she had to go tearing off with a bunch of Yankees. “She can take care of herself,” he said finally. “You’re free now, Marshal. Go back to Savannah and don’t worry about your sister. I’m sure she’ll do just fine.”

  Myles could only stare at him in disbelief, but Thomas was leaping to his feet to yell furiously: “How can you say such a thing, Arnhardt? We just got through telling you she’s with that Yankee, and he’s using her, because she thinks Myles is being held prisoner by his men now. He’ll never tell her Myles got away.”

  “That’s her problem.” Derek sat up, looked about for his boots, found them, and began struggling into them. “You see,” he continued slowly, “I struck a bargain with her, and there were a few conditions—such as, that she was not to leave me. So she can get herself out of whatever predicament she’s gotten herself into.

  “And,” he added, eyes glittering as a nasty mood suddenly swept through him, “while she would have everyone believe she’s suffering, I rather imagine she’s enjoying being a martyr.”

  Myles struggled to leap for him, but Thomas had sensed the explosion coming and was there to hold him back. Myles was no match for such a tower of a man.

  “You worthless son of a bitch!” Myles yelped as Thomas held him. “You goddamn miserable son of a dog! How can you speak of my sister that way? I should’ve known better than expect you to help us. You used her, didn’t you? Like all the others…”

  Thomas was having a hard time restraining his cousin, and he was surprised to realize Myles had such strength, for he still looked wasted and weak. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.” He spoke harshly. “Just calm down, Myles. Let’s get out of here. We’ll find her on our own.”

  “You made love to her!” Myles screamed at Derek, who just sat there looking at him, expressionless. “Admit it! You’re like the rest, wanting only one thing. Those bastards I killed tried to rape her, and that’s why I killed them. And I never wanted this stinking war. This goddamn brand on my forehead isn’t justifiable. I’m no traitor to the South. I-just-didn’t-want-the-goddamn-war! Can you understand me? And neither did Julie! But we were pulled into it. And everything she did, everything, was because of me! Now look at me! I’m just a shadow of a man, and I can’t help her. I can’t save her. I can’t even beat you to a pulp for saying such things about her—”

  He collapsed in Thomas’s arms, sobbing brokenly as he was helped back to his chair.

  For a few moments there was no sound in the room except for Myles’s weeping. Then Thomas turned to Derek and said, “Everything he said was true.” And he fell silent.

  Myles stopped crying and stared out the window, feeling humiliated because he had lost control of himself.

  Derek finished dressing, then looked at the two of them and spoke with quiet determination. “Gentlemen, I have listened to you but I’ve got my own opinions in the matter. You do what you want about Julie, but as for me, I intend to get back into this damn war with both feet. I’m going to fight for the South as long as there’s hope. When there is none, then I pray to God I never again spill another drop of human blood.”

  He turned toward the door, but Thomas was right behind
him. “What do you intend to do? Are you going to run the blockade again? Are you saying you won’t help us find Julie?”

  Derek sucked in his breath, his huge chest expanding to stretch his shirt tautly. “I said I intend to get back into the war. In my own way. As for Julie, I think she can take care of herself. Right now there’s more to be done than galloping off to try and rescue her, however noble an act you feel it would be.”

  He started to move once more, but Thomas clutched at his shoulder. “But you didn’t answer me. What exactly do you intend to do?”

  Derek eyed him warily. “I’m going to fight the war my way. You’re welcome to come, both of you, if you like.” Then he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

  Thomas turned to Myles. “What do you want to do?” He waved his arms in the air. “Do you think we should go with him?”

  Myles shrugged helplessly. “We can keep trying to persuade him to go after Julie. But one thing is for certain: he’s going to fight the blasted Yankees, and it’s high time I did too. I say let’s go with him.”

  They began to gather their things hurriedly, anxious to catch up with Derek.

  Outside in the hallway, Derek leaned against the faded papered wall, pulled out a long, thin cheroot, and lit it as he waited. They would be along. He had no doubt of it. And maybe somewhere along the way, they would encounter Julie. But for the moment, he needed time to find out just what that gnawing in his gut really meant—whether he wanted to satiate the yearning—but most of all…he was ready to make some Yankees pay for a hell of a lot of misery.

  And yes, a tiny voice whispered deep within the giant of a man, he wanted to make them pay for what they’d done to Julie as well.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Julie had lost all concept of time. The days couldn’t really be distinguished one from the other, and they would finally blend into weeks which blurred in her memory.

  Gordon had placed her in one of Richmond’s most fashionable hotels. She could not complain about the comfort provided by her surroundings, though it did not matter.