Plantation Nation (9781621352877)

by King, Mercedes

  "Brought you some hardtack," Graham said as they took their position with the company in the courtyard.

  Armed with their muskets, they would practice priming the weapon, tearing open the paper cartridge with their teeth, loading the barrel, and firing the gun. Colonel Reed wanted his men proficient in the use of the weapon, despite the sketchy craftsmanship and inaccuracy of the army-issued musket.

  Emma thanked Graham and attacked the unsalted biscuit with ravenous bites. Like everyone else in the fortification, Emma loathed the monotony of the tasteless rations, but complaining changed nothing. That prim manners had no place at an encampment was a small consolation.

  "Any news come?" she asked.

  "Just that the Rebels are strengthening their troops around Richmond. Still no word on a definitive plan of attack."

  Evenings by the fire gave the men a chance to recount and share the day's news. Tonight, Emma and the others learned General Winfield Scott's "Anaconda Plan" had been dismissed. Politicians argued that the current Navy was too small for the tactic of guarding all Southern ports, since almost every seceded state bordered the Atlantic or the Gulf of Mexico. Currently, the Navy already struggled maintaining its blockade in several key ports. Furthermore, advisers believed training enough men for an effective ground invasion launched primarily from the West, using the Mississippi River to transport and transplant troops, would take too long. Most of the men in Lincoln's circle wanted a speedier resolution.

  The Union's military strategy, Emma thought, resembled the army's food, being lackluster at best. Many Northerners shared her opinion and voiced their frustration, as a recent headline in the New York Tribune read, "Forward to Richmond! Forward to Richmond!" and encouraged the Lincoln administration to prevent the Confederate Congress from convening there in July.

  Emma wondered if a similar battle cry sounded in the South, and if their share of West Point commanders proved just as stagnant. However, she had to admit, if only to herself, that a part of her couldn't root against the South. She was interested in watching the practice of slavery die, not her fellow countrymen. And certainly not her brothers. She hoped, perhaps against hope, that the South would put up a decent fight, and that the South's passion and dedication to its morals would translate into their fighting men. Yes, Emma hoped the Yanks wouldn't soon forget their tangle with the men in gray.

  "If this fever keeps up," Emma said, "the Union may not have much of an army left."

  Although she couldn't escape the bred-in patriotism she held for Dixie, she hoped and prayed earnestly that camp fever and Rebel bullets wouldn't be her fate.

  ****

  After drill duty, fellow soldiers Ben Reynolds, Charlie Culpepper, and Simon Wells joined Emma and Graham as they received their supper of bean stew and a corn cake. Harper, Emma knew, would throw up her hands at such a disgraceful meal. She didn't dare to think about Harper's cornbread or yearn for a bowlful of frogmore stew.

  The men built a fire near their tents and encircled the flames with their canvas stools, actions that had become an easy habit. Emma found her place among the men as a quiet type who had a knack for sewing on loose buttons and repairing holes in their woolen socks. She preferred the Bible over games of dice, and with her forage cap consistently low and tight, she excused herself whenever Ben started passing around his canteen of gin.

  Emma had also created a habit of writing letters after supper. Sylvia occupied her mind the most, as Emma wanted to know everything about her sister's adjustment to life with Aunt Celia in New Orleans. Brief but cheerful, Emma's letters focused on seeing Sylvia again and made no mention of Emma's departure from the plantation or her decision to join the Union army. She didn't want to upset Sylvia, and doubted Knox and Olivia wanted to say much about it. If, however, Sylvia mentioned the postmark or did catch wind of Emma's absence, she promised herself she'd be honest. Vague but honest.

  The bulk of her writing went to Stuart. In letters to her cousin, Emma sent assurances that all was well. She also included a copy of her letters to Sylvia, just in case her mailings to New Orleans were unable to reach her, for whatever reason. Emma also broke down and penned an explanation to Knox. She stayed mum on details of her whereabouts and 'doings' but admitted she had taken on "a helpful position that favored the North's cause." She could only imagine the fury that gripped both Knox and her mother, but she wished them good health and sent her love. All the good it would do.

  After supper, Charlie edged in closer to Emma. Among the shortest in Emma's company, Charlie had the curliest blonde hair she had ever seen. Whatever Charlie may have lacked in stature, he made up for with his soldiering skills. Agile and quick with the musket, he seemed ideal for the army, though his countenance always held a scowl.

  "I been thinking," Charlie said slowly.

  Emma tucked away the letter she was writing and her face reddened, not from concern that Charlie might've seen anything incriminating in the letter, but from the fact that Charlie kept to himself more than Emma did. Charlie Culpepper was one of the few she expected to strike up a conversation with her.

  "About what?" she asked.

  Charlie rubbed his hands and held them over the fire. "Maybe deserting."

  Emma's eyes widened. She looked to see if the others had heard, but no one else seemed to be listening. Why would Charlie confide in her?

  "My enlistment is supposed to be up next month," Charlie continued, "but we got those letters, telling us it would be extended. I don't think I want to stay. I mean, if it's this bad when there's no fighting, what's it gonna be like when we're killing other men?"

  "I don't know, Charlie, but you can't just run out and leave the army. You could be put in jail, or worse."

  "Only if I got caught. It's not like the Union can keep track of every man here, and then send someone after the men who've run off. If I just up and walked out of here right now and back to Washington, who'd know?"

  "We would know," Emma said, referring to the fellow soldiers. "And what's that say about what kind of man you are, going back on your word?"

  Charlie turned away.

  "You can't go turning yellow on us now," Emma said.

  "I ain't yellow!"

  Others turned at Charlie's raised voice, but he produced a phony grin.

  Emma didn't believe Charlie's declaration, but she decided not to argue the point.

  "War isn't supposed to be easy, Charlie, and army life isn't meant to be comfortable." Emma surprised herself, both with her amateur wisdom and new found conviction.

  "I don't know if I can do it," Charlie said with gritted teeth.

  "What?"

  "Kill someone."

  Emma sat dumbfounded. Charlie showed no hesitation when he handled the musket or artillery. He'd been praised for his accuracy and swiftness. Emma fumbled her musket and wasn't used to handling such a lanky weapon. Since having the musket and a supply of paper cartridges thrust into her hands, Emma hadn't been sure if she could fire upon another human being either. Her hope was to end inhumanities, yet she couldn't come to terms with how that could happen without bloodshed and without her facing her own kinsmen with a gun. Emma had no desire to share her uncertainty with Charlie.

  "I don't know, Charlie. I don't think any of us do, not until we get there and we don't have a choice. Who knows what will happen." Emma looked Charlie straight in the eye. "But running away isn't an option."

  "What'cha fellas over here so serious about?" Nash asked as he slapped both of them on the shoulder. Before either had an answer, he reached in front of Charlie and picked up his half empty bowl of beans and helped himself to the rest.

  Apologies hadn't been exchanged between Emma and Nash since their scuffle, and Emma still had reservations about Nash, but now, she viewed Nash as more of an oaf than a lethal threat. Nash was rude and obnoxious with everyone, and Emma and the other men could tolerate Nash only in small doses.

  "We were wondering what it'll be like to kill someone," Emma said after a pause. />
  "It ain't nothin'." Bean soup spittle escaped as Nash talked.

  "You mean to say you killed a man before?" Simon Wells asked. Ben and the other men perked up at the conversation.

  Nash shrugged. "Yeah. Took out a cattle rustler back in '59. Couple Injuns before that."

  "Guess you ain't nervous about facing the Confederates then."

  "Nah. Can't wait to get a whack at them good-for-nothings. Might pick me off a couple of them coloreds, too, if I get me the chance."

  Mild laughter sounded.

  "What?" Emma said. "We're not here to shoot coloreds, Nash. We're here to fight for their freedom."

  "Well, maybe you are, tadpole, but who cares 'bout a bunch o' darkies runnin' 'round free. What good is that gonna do any of us?"

  "He's right," Simon said.

  "Yeah, I don't care about slavery or how people in the South work their farms," Charlie added. "And you know, the Bible makes several references to masters and their slaves, so maybe that's the way it's supposed to be."

  "Lincoln and his pals shoulda just sent a haul of weapons down south," Simon said. "Let the darkies fight it out with their owners. Then we coulda gone in and cleaned up the mess."

  Grunts of agreement followed.

  "I ain't never even seen a black man," said Xavier, one of Nash's pals, who had joined the conversation.

  "They got fangs and tails!" Nash turned toward Xavier and positioned his index fingers like they were fangs protruding from his mouth. "Almost no differen' than a monkey."

  Chortles rolled from the men.

  "That's not true!" Emma stood, fists clenched at her sides.

  "It's not worth getting upset over, Tom," Graham said. "The darkies are different from us. They're savages, like the Indians. The South's done them a favor all these years, taking care of them. Otherwise, they'd still be eating each other in the jungles."

  "Yeah, so why should I get killed for them?" Charlie asked. Others echoed his remark.

  Disbelief paralyzed Emma as she scanned their jovial faces, but she quickly found her voice.

  "You have no idea what it's like to have your family taken from you, or to have your every waking moment under someone else's rule. You've never had someone put a price on you, suggesting what you're worth. Never seen someone beaten for working too slow in the summer heat. No man should be owned by another." All eyes rested upon her and she returned their bewildered gazes with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. "If you're not here to end slavery, then why did you volunteer?"

  Silence beat.

  "Who doesn't want the chance to put them Rebels in their place?" Ben said with a smirk.

  Their chuckles revived, and no one seemed to care when Emma turned and left them. Deep disappointment settled over her, and her distrust of the men was reborn. She aimed to spend the night at the hospital tent, as far from every Yankee as she could get. At that moment, she doubted any man wanted to spit on and desert the Union army more than she did.

  ****

  Centreville, Virginia

  July, 1861

  Marching orders came for the men of Fort Madison days later, along with the announcement that their company, and several others, were merging with Brigadier General Irvin McDowell's troops in Northern Virginia. Lincoln and key members of his administration were eager for an assault on Confederate troops amassing near Manassas Junction. Since Colonel Robert E. Lee declined the offer to lead and advance Union troops because of his devotion to seceding Virginia, Lincoln made due with the average military talent at his disposal and accepted the fact many of his ranking officers lacked battlefield knowledge and strategic application. Nothing could have been truer of Irvin McDowell. Well aware McDowell had no leadership experience, Lincoln hoped McDowell's sudden promotion in mid-May would boost the general's confidence and ensure a solid victory for the Union.

  With loaded-down haversacks, every man contributed to moving artillery and supplies over the twenty-five mile trek. Sweltering heat accompanied them. Temporary headquarters were erected for McDowell and his officers, as were tents for meal preparation and hospital usage.

  Unease churned within Emma. She'd grown comfortable with her routine at Fort Madison, even with the tirades of Dr. Spear. But here, with the men's tents pitched even closer together for added protection and because there were a great deal more men, Emma almost felt as if she were reliving her first days of encampment. She would have to scout for a new spot for bathing and privacy. Distrusting her Yankee comrades more than ever, she planned to spend more time at the hospital and bunk there when she could.

  "Eat up, fellas!" said Grady, as men from Emma's company gathered for supper. A new transplant at Centreville, Grady Hawk became the camp's main cook. With scraggly, gray hair and no teeth, Grady had a dead eye and walked with a limp. When asked about his collateral damage, Grady changed his story each time and offered an explanation more unbelievable than the previous tale. Although no one believed he had wrestled a jaguar in South America, some suspected a grain of truth about his adventures on a whaling ship. Most found him entertaining, especially when he claimed he could pop out his glass eye and let the men hold it. Eli Nash in particular had lit up at the idea, but Grady said the eye was stuck and "bein' a stubborn cuss."

  An eeriness slinked over Emma whenever she was around Grady. Not only did the constant storytelling irk her and that dead eye send chills sliding down her spine, but the way Grady looked at Emma disturbed her. Grady often flashed a toothless smile for Emma's eyes only, which deepened her repulsion.

  "Eat up! Eat up!" Grady scooped potato soup into the tin bowls that passed into his hands. "I tossed in some possum meat. Should thicken this up a bit, keep you warm tonight."

  Men hesitated and traded glances until Grady looked up and roared with laughter. Whether that laugh was meant to ease cringing faces or assure them possum wasn't an ingredient, no one knew. Just as no one could identify the smell of the stew. Emma poked and played with her portion as she usually did whenever Grady manned the pot.

  "You meet the new lieutenant yet?" Graham asked Emma after most men finished or gave up on their vittles. They'd spoken little since the company's relocation and the night Emma had berated her comrades and stormed off.

  "Trumball? Nah, I been doing double shifts, helping set up the hospital." Emma had welcomed the long days, even though Dr. Spear's temperament showed no bright spots.

  Emma handed her plate to Nash, as did others. Nash's iron stomach and lack of taste buds ensured the meager portions didn't go to waste. Not even the hardtack littered with weevils passed by him.

  "He's seven foot tall," Nash said of Trumball.

  "You've met him?" Graham asked.

  "Not yet. Heard 'bout him. He can shoot a man square in the forehead a hundred yards off."

  "What?" Emma asked.

  "It's true," Nash said. "He was some big hero in the war with them Mexicans. Popped off a bunch 'o 'em with his dead aim. Even drug his injured horse ten miles from a battlefield so's the Injuns wouldn't eat it."

  Emma and Graham looked at each other in dubious silence.

  Their meal was interrupted by the approaching of Dr. Spear. He tramped through the crowds of men, pointing and calling to some of the soldiers. When he noticed Emma, Dr. Spear blared, "Edwin! Come with me. You're needed at the hospital immediately!"

  ****

  Repositioning troops south of Washington may have strengthened the Union forces against the Confederates, but the onslaught of illness continued. Typhus had launched a strong offensive well before the hospital was fully up and operational.

  When Emma, Dr. Spear, and other men the doctor had rounded up entered the tent, the smell of gunpowder and the stench of burnt flesh made nostrils wince.

  Emma saw half a dozen men doubled over and gripped with pain. Then her eyes caught sight of Ben Reynolds. On a cot, shaking and with his hands crossed over his chest, Ben lay with his eyes closed. Emma went to him and stepped back in horror. Burnt scraps of flesh hung from
Ben's hand.

  "Dear God, what happened?" Emma asked breathlessly. She spoke more to herself than to Ben, but Ben's eyes opened, though only a slit.

  "Cannon… misfired." The words cost Ben his remaining strength. He faded from consciousness.

  Emma foraged in the tent for ointment and bandages. Dr. Spear came to Ben's side and administered doses of morphine, which was reserved for restricted use, and shouted instructions to the assistants and nurses. Emma looked at the other injured men. One had gunpowder burns to his face. Another lay dead.

  Emma shook her head and refocused on Ben. She wrapped the injured hand, finding no ointment or salve, and hoped it would be enough to stop the bleeding. She wiped Ben's face with a cool cloth and hoped she could keep from crying.

  "How bad is he?"

  Emma looked up and saw General McDowell standing beside the cot. Two officers flanked his sides. Doctor Spear stepped in front of Emma and replied as though the general had addressed him.

  "I'm afraid it's too soon to say, sir." Dr. Spear glanced at the bandaged hand. "He will probably lose the use of his hand, but he'll live as long as infection or gangrene doesn't set in."

  McDowell, imposing in his full uniform, shook his head while he scowled at Ben's injury. "This whole thing could have been avoided. Look around you, Major Briggs. This is uncalled for."

  "Sir," said the major at McDowell's side, "we're doing our best to train the men on how to use the artillery. Risk is involved with many of these weapons."

  "Dozens of our men have been lost to similar injuries," McDowell said. "And we're running out of time. The president sent word, urging an attack on Confederate forces outside of Sudley Springs. He wants us to march in two days. We can't afford any more losses such as this. Every man is vital to our cause."