“Indeed you have. In fact, that’s why I was not the least bit nervous approaching you with my little petition, because your reputation for wisdom precedes you.” She gave him her most winning smile. “As an act of Christian charity, I should like to visit the Union prisoners, and nurse them if they are ill or wounded, and bring them little delicacies from my kitchen, and such books as will distract them and keep them from causing any disturbances. I will, of course, bear all expenses myself, as part of my service to the cause.”
Two clerks exchanged a look of surprise as General Winder mulled it over. “I have no objection,” he said. “I would prefer for you not to go alone, however. Soldiers can be a rough breed.”
Lizzie’s smile deepened. “Perhaps, but I have also discovered—quite recently, in fact—that among them one may also find the most charming of gentlemen.”
The general chuckled and his cheeks took on an ever so slightly rosier hue as he asked the clerks for paper and pen. “I am writing you a pass,” he declared as he wrote, “granting you permission to visit the prisoners, and to bring them books, food, whatever you may please.”
“That is most kind, General.”
He stood and reached across the desk to hand her the pass, and she quickly rose and took it. “This should suffice, but if anyone refuses you, send word to me right away and we’ll sort it out.”
She thanked him profusely and swept from the office, throwing him one last smile over her shoulder in parting. Back on the street, she closed her eyes, clutched the precious paper to her bosom, and inhaled deeply, wishing she could shout for joy. At last she could fulfill the sacred duty of caring for the Union prisoners in their distress—and no one, not even the estranged brother-in-law of the president of her beloved United States, could stop her.
Chapter Six
* * *
JULY-AUGUST 1861
T
he next day, Lizzie instructed Caroline to cook up a pot of rich chicken soup and a simple cornmeal gruel, and to spoon them into covered dishes. Lizzie’s favorite was a clever contrivance with a double bottom into which boiling water could be poured to keep the food warm. At the last moment, she asked Caroline to make a ginger cake, the same delicacy Mr. Botts was so fond of, and to fill a bottle with buttermilk. “We must take a gift for Lieutenant Todd,” she explained to little Annie, who was too small to be useful but insisted upon helping her auntie load the basket.
“He won’t be pleased to learn that I went to his superiors,” she told her mother as they strolled down the hill to the Liggon prison complex, heavy baskets in their arms. In addition to the food, Mother had wisely packed bandages, lint, and a bottle of brandy, mostly full.
“Caroline’s ginger cake will sweeten him,” said Mother confidently, puffing a bit from exertion. “And even if it doesn’t, Lieutenant Todd dare not ignore General Winder’s command.”
Lizzie certainly hoped so.
When they arrived at the main gate, the plump young guard who had escorted Lizzie before was absent, and a tall, lank-haired soldier with a pockmarked face stood at his post. Mother explained their errand, and when the guard disappeared inside and returned with the news that Lieutenant Todd could not see them, Lizzie sighed disconsolately. “Oh, what a pity,” she exclaimed, lifting the cloth over the basket holding the ginger cake so that the delicious aroma wafted out. “We had so hoped to deliver our gifts while they’re fresh and warm. I suppose we could return tomorrow, but they will not taste half as good.”
“I did not think I would have to carry these heavy burdens uphill on our way home,” said Mother, sounding much distressed. “We had expected to empty our baskets here.”
The guard eyed their baskets longingly as if he wished he could accept them on the lieutenant’s behalf. “Let me ask again. Maybe he can spare a few minutes.”
They smiled and thanked him, and soon enough he returned and ushered them through the gate and down the long hallway. Lieutenant Todd was writing in a ledger of sorts when they arrived at his office, but he set his pen aside and rose when they entered. “We come bearing gifts,” said Mother, setting the bottle of buttermilk on his desk while Lizzie placed the ginger cake in his hands, still warm, wrapped in a cheesecloth.
“This smells delicious,” he said, admiring the ginger cake, but when he glanced up, the gaze he fixed on Lizzie was curious. “I confess I don’t know what I did to earn such a delicacy. My impression was that you left our first meeting rather displeased with me.”
“I know you were thinking only of my welfare,” Lizzie assured him, taking General Winder’s letter from her pocket. “I confess I was disappointed, but not undaunted, and I’m happy to say that General Winder agrees that I should care for the Union prisoners—at my own expense, of course. My work will free up the more qualified nurses to care for our own suffering soldiers.”
The lieutenant straightened, and his mouth hardened into a line. Pretending not to notice his annoyance, Lizzie smiled and held out the letter to him with both hands. He set the ginger cake on the desk next to the buttermilk, took the page, and read it slowly. “I see,” he said when he had finished, folding the letter and returning it to her. “If General Winder says you may visit the soldiers, I cannot refuse. I do hope you ladies are prepared for what you will see.”
“I’m sure that we are not prepared,” said Mother frankly. “We have read about the violence of war, and we have had occasion to tend to the ailing and broken bodies of loved ones, but I am quite sure that nothing we have experienced in our fortunate lives could adequately prepare us for the task we want to undertake. And yet we must set aside our fears and squeamishness, and do what we are afraid to do, because those men are suffering and we can help.”
Lieutenant Todd studied her in silence, and Lizzie could tell that he was impressed. “I won’t delay you any longer,” he said, and beckoned to the guard. “Take these ladies to the infirmary. Give them anything they need.”
They followed the guard down a long corridor, silent, steeling themselves. The smell told them that they had arrived even before their escort halted at a door. He opened it and gestured for them to proceed him inside, but when she crossed the threshold, Lizzie drew back, gagging from the smell of defecation and urine and rot. Mother shifted her basket to the crook of her elbow, pressed a rosemary-scented handkerchief to her mouth and nose, and pushed past Lizzie into the room. Swallowing hard, her eyes tearing up, Lizzie followed.
It was, not unexpectedly, a hospital ward in name only. Nearly six dozen men were crammed into a room that could not have held a third that number in any comfort. They had no beds, but lay on straw scattered upon the rough, uneven wooden floor. Only half of the men had blankets, which they had wadded up into pillows or spread upon the straw for comfort, needing no coverings in the stifling summer heat. Lingering near the door, where the air was not so thick and foul, Lizzie saw men with open, oozing wounds; amputees with stumps wrapped in strips of fabric torn from the uniforms of many different regiments; haphazardly tended injuries with blood and pus seeping through the bandages. One man groaned, another called out weakly for water.
And suddenly Lizzie knew where to begin. Quickly she set down the baskets of gruel and soup and whirled upon the guard. “Water,” she said tersely. “Clean, fresh water. A pail with a dipper for drinking, a bucketful for washing.”
The guard gave her a wary, appraising look and seemed as if he might speak, but he hurried off without a word, and Lizzie and her mother set themselves to their grim duty.
All morning and well into the afternoon they cleansed and bandaged wounds, offered the men water, dispensed small doses of brandy, and spooned soup or gruel into the mouths of prisoners who were well enough to eat. They badgered the guards to summon a doctor to examine the most seriously afflicted men, but although they were assured a doctor would come as soon as possible, one had not yet appeared by the time the exhausted women withdrew
from the infirmary. They stopped by Lieutenant Todd’s office, assured him they would return the next day, and left the prison, their footsteps quickening as they approached the exit. Outside, Lizzie gasped as the breeze swept over her; never before had the sultry July air by the river felt so refreshing and tasted so sweet. She thought she heard someone call out from above, but when she glanced upward, she saw no one at any of the small, tightly shut windows.
“At the very least,” she muttered, “the prisoners should be permitted to raise the sashes and allow a breath of air to stir inside.”
“They might climb out and make their escape,” her mother replied.
“The sick and injured wouldn’t, and neither would those on the third floor.” Lizzie sighed as they trudged wearily up the hill toward home, the empty dishes rattling in their baskets. “Oh, Mother, their suffering was even worse than I expected—and we saw only one room!”
“But in all likelihood, it was the worst room.” Mother paused to catch her breath in the shade of a walnut tree growing close to the street. “Tomorrow, we’ll ask to be introduced to the officers. We’ll bring books and bread and writing materials.”
“And another pair of hands,” said Lizzie as they continued on their way. “Eliza will help us, I’m sure.”
The next morning, when they stopped by the Carrington residence on their way to the prison with their refilled baskets, Eliza grew pale as they described the conditions within the infirmary and how desperately more help was needed. “I believe we have some fresh bread I could bring,” Eliza said faintly when they finished. “And some preserves. And a bottle of cherry cordial.”
“Thank you, my dear,” said Mother. “We can offer that to the lieutenant.”
He accepted it most appreciatively, and upon their arrival in the infirmary, they discovered a handful of new patients, one who had broken his arm in a scuffle with a guard and three suffering from the flux. Mother kept the latter as far away from the others as she could in such close quarters, and while she and Eliza began changing dressings and feeding soup, cornmeal gruel, and bread to those who could eat, Lizzie returned to the lieutenant’s office and presented him with a list of requests for the prisoners that she had worked out the night before—cots, of course, and sheets and blankets to dress them. Bandages, as many rolls as they could get. The liberty to open the windows. Permission for the walking wounded to take their exercise in the courtyard. Ample supplies of fresh, clean water. Chamber pots and necessaries. Regular visits from qualified physicians.
“Doctors’ visits will be few and far between,” Lieutenant Todd said, scanning the list. “There are hundreds of patients throughout the city requiring their attention. Water and exercise will be granted. As to the rest of it—” He tossed the list on his desk, folded his arms, and shrugged. “I have no objection if you wish to provide such supplies as you believe the Yankees require. I only hope you are giving as generously to our side.”
“Of course,” she said, hiding her surprise. She had not expected him to agree to half of her requests, so she had asked for twice as much as she thought she could squeeze out of him. “When we’ve finished tending to the men in the infirmary, we’d like to visit some of the other prisoners and inquire as to their needs.”
She held her breath, waiting for him to object. She had General Winder’s letter in her pocket, but she hoped Lieutenant Todd would not force her to produce it. To her relief, he frowned, but nodded.
At midday, Eliza remained behind in the infirmary while a guard escorted Lizzie and her mother to the officers’ quarters on the first floor. Upon entering the room, Lizzie’s first impression was of a dark, cramped, and dusty space, oppressive with the smells of old tobacco and unwashed bodies and the sounds of low voices rumbling and throats clearing. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw that the room was more than twice as long as it was wide, about thirty feet by seventy-five, although half that space was taken up by tobacco presses. At least forty men sat or stood or walked aimlessly about, glancing curiously at the visitors, but they had no beds or blankets that Lizzie could discern.
As Lizzie and her mother stepped into the room, gazing about and nodding politely to the prisoners, one man in a civilian suit broke away from the crowd and approached. “Welcome to our humble abode, ladies,” he said, inclining his head solicitously. “I’m Congressman Alfred Ely, the senior prisoner here. How may I be of service?”
“We rather hope that we could be of service to you.” Lizzie opened her basket to reveal two dozen round buns, their golden tops crisp and marked with crosses. “I fear that we underestimated your numbers.”
“Thank you very much. The men will be happy to share.” Turning, he beckoned two men, a lieutenant and a captain, and instructed them to distribute the bread to the others, who seemed to be exercising great restraint in not rushing forward to snatch the food from the baskets. “Half a loaf is better than none, especially here.”
“Congressman Ely, you say?” queried Mother. “Then you are not a soldier?”
He smiled ruefully, but even then his dark eyes, piercing gaze, and strong, intelligent features gave him an air of command. “No, Madam, merely an unfortunate politician, punished for his curiosity. When the fighting began at Bull Run, I rode out from Washington City like thousands of others to witness the glorious spectacle. But I drove my carriage too far, and in the chaos of McDowell’s retreat, I was captured.”
“Oh, how dreadful,” Mother exclaimed, shaking her head.
“We have it better here than the poor enlisted men on the third floor. We’re treated to three meals a day, though the portions are small and not particularly appetizing.” He glanced at the guard, who had taken up a position just inside the doorway, and lowered his voice. “Those of us who managed to smuggle in a bit of coin can usually convince the guards to purchase additional food for us. The enlisted men—” He shook his head. “They usually get but one meal, on a good day, two. But we keep our spirits up.” A few disheveled soldiers who overheard chimed in their agreement stoutly.
As the prisoners eagerly dug into their half portions of bread, Lizzie introduced herself and her mother to Mr. Ely, the usual formalities having been forgotten in their grim surroundings. As Mother strolled through the room, greeting each soldier kindly, offering gentle words, and distributing books, Lizzie chatted with the congressman, who seemed remarkably sanguine given his circumstances. The civilian officers had not expected to be shut up in a prison at all, he explained, shaking his head at their naïveté. They had assumed they would surrender their swords and then be paroled, with the freedom to mingle with their captors and go about the city as they pleased until they could be transported to the North. “We learned quite early on that this will be a very different sort of war,” Mr. Ely said matter-of-factly. “We’re not certain if Washington even knows where we are and who are among us.”
“Your families must be frantic,” said Lizzie. “Have you written to them?”
“We would have, if we’d had pen and paper, and if Lieutenant Todd had not expressly forbidden it.”
“But simple human decency obliges him to permit it.”
“Miss Van Lew,” he said steadily, “make no mistake, this is not a place where the rules of human decency are in force.”
Indignant, Lizzie thought for a moment, then strode across the room to take one of the last volumes from her mother’s basket. “This book is a favorite of mine,” she said as she placed it into Mr. Ely’s hands, though she had not even glanced at the spine for the title. “I think you will find it quite illuminating.”
A slight furrow appeared on his brow. “Thank you, Madam.”
“I adore it so much that I can allow you to borrow it only until my next visit.” Mindful of the guard observing them from the doorway, she wagged a finger playfully at the congressman and added, “I trust you will take excellent care of it. I’ll notice if you leave
a single smudge or mark, no matter how small.”
“I understand perfectly,” he said, inclining his head and tucking the book beneath his arm. “I am grateful to you.”
“Tomorrow we’ll bring more bread,” Mother promised as she joined them, her empty baskets hanging from the crook of her arm. “You must let us know what else we can do for you.”
He promised to do so.
After bidding the officers good-bye, Lizzie and her mother asked the guard to escort them back to the infirmary, where they found Eliza bathing the brow of a feverish soldier. He had suffered a blow to the head on the battlefield, a fellow captive from his brigade had told them, and he had not awakened since falling unconscious on the train to Richmond.
“Tomorrow I will bring a mustard plaster,” she said, her voice faint from exhaustion. “And the boy in the bed by the corner needs a poultice for that dreadful cough, and they all need fresh bandages. I have some old sheets I can tear up, and—” She broke off, her eyes wide and tearful. “Oh, there is so much to do, and the war has only just begun.”
Without a word, Lizzie folded Eliza in her arms and held her while she trembled and fought back tears. “Be brave,” Mother murmured. “The men will see you and think you weep because they’re going to die. You must be cheerful and calm so they believe they’re going to be perfectly fine.”
Eliza nodded, took a deep breath, and offered a tremulous smile.
“That’s a good girl,” said Mother quietly. “Today was the worst day because it is so new. Tomorrow will be better.”
The next morning when they called for Eliza at home, they found her pale but determined, with two heaping baskets full of bandages, remedies, and nutritious broths and porridges. Lizzie and her mother had packed rich custards for the officers and several loaves of bread for the enlisted men, whom Lizzie was determined to visit. She had also brought a satchel full of more books, to supplement the few she had left the previous day and to exchange for the one she had given to Mr. Ely.
The Spymistress Page 9
