by Ginny Dye
“Nonsense!” Aunt Abby exclaimed, blinking back her tears. “Trying to cover the truth doesn’t hide the reality of what is. I only wish everyone could go down to see what you were forced to. Maybe everyone would work harder to find a way to end this crazy war.”
Matthew looked at her for a moment and then stared off again, seeming to once more forget the two women were there.
Rose and Aunt Abby exchanged anxious looks. Rose felt her heart squeeze with pity for the man who had been such a good friend to her. If it hadn’t been for Matthew, Ike Adams would have taken her back to slavery after he had had his way with her.
Matthew started talking again. “When General Lee pulled his troops back, our soldiers moved back to where they had been. But first they had to bury the thousands of dead scattered everywhere. Makeshift graves were dug for both Rebels and Yankees... the smell of burning horses almost choked us.” He paused for another long moment. “The dead they buried - they didn’t do a very good job. I went there later - the smell was horrible. Rain had washed away the dirt over the graves...” His voice faltered as his eyes filled with tears. “There were legs and hands sticking out - heads pushing through the ground...” He stopped, bowing his head as if the pain were more than he could bear. “So much death - so senseless,” he finally murmured in a broken voice.
Aunt Abby sprung up and wrapped her arms around him. “I am so sorry, Matthew. I know it must have been horrible.” She stroked his head tenderly. “But you’re home now. You’re with Rose and me.”
Rose brushed away the tears on her cheeks. She knew Matthew was back on the battlefield, experiencing again the horrors he had been forced to see and report on. Reading about it in the paper was one thing. Experiencing the reality was different. She knew.
Matthew took a deep breath and straightened. Tears still shone in his eyes, but the haunted look had dissipated.
“Thank you,” he murmured, managing a shaky smile. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, but it seems to have helped to say it.”
“Sharing pain always seems to help,” Rose agreed. Her mind traveled back to the time Moses had stripped his shirt to display the crisscross of whip scars on his back. That was when he had finally released the agony of seeing his father die. It had been the beginning of his healing. “You’ll never forget what you’ve seen, but it will lose some of its power to haunt you.”
“You’re very wise for one so young,” Matthew said, a small smile lighting his face.
Rose shrugged. “My mama was the wise one. I’m just lucky enough to have remembered much of what she tried to teach me.”
“I so wish I could have met your mama before God took her home,” Aunt Abby said. “I have heard so much about her from both you and Carrie.”
“My mama was a saint,” Rose said firmly. “I know she and my daddy are happy now. That’s what counts.” She would hold the memories of her mama close all of her life but it helped to know she was with God. She also knew how glad her mama would be that she was free and following her dreams. That had meant everything to her.
“What’s going to happen now, Matthew?” Aunt Abby asked.
“McClellan will have to launch another attack against Richmond. I have a feeling it will be soon. President Lincoln didn’t send over one hundred thousand men down there to just camp outside their gates.”
“McClellan is being criticized for his actions,” Rose commented.
“I know,” Matthew responded. “I wouldn’t want to be in his position, but from all I can tell, he is moving much too slowly and cautiously. The Rebels have surely had all the time they need to reinforce their troops and prepare for what is coming. I’ve heard the reports that our troops are hopelessly outnumbered. McClellan is using that as the reason he keeps stalling on pressing an offensive. I find it difficult to believe. The South simply doesn’t have that kind of manpower.”
“There are many people in the North who are getting impatient with him,” Aunt Abby commented.
“Impatient is one way to put it,” Matthew said wryly. “Infuriated might be a more accurate way to state it.” He paused. “I know he and Lincoln have clashed several times. The more Lincoln tries to get action from him, the slower he moves.”
“I heard McClellan was furious when Lincoln ordered McDowell’s reinforcements back to protect the capital,” Rose said.
“You’re right. McClellan claimed to know all along that General Jackson’s campaign in the valley the last two weeks was just a Southern ploy to give General Lee time to prepare for the battle. Maybe he did know. But I don’t see how Lincoln could have done anything else. Just as the South can’t afford to lose Richmond, we can’t afford to lose Washington.” Matthew turned to Aunt Abby. “I understand the abolitionists aren’t too fond of McClellan either.”
Aunt Abby frowned. “I’m afraid you’re right.” She paused then shook her head. “I’m discovering that balance seems to be an impossible thing to find in this war. You know I have worked with the Abolitionist Society for years. I want nothing more than to see every single slave in the South freed...”
“But...” Matthew prompted.
“There’s not a but,” Aunt Abby protested. “It’s just there are differences of opinion on how it can be done. There are many abolitionists who want to see McClellan strung up because he isn’t dedicated to freeing the slaves. They extol General Fremont for issuing his own emancipation proclamation in Missouri.”
“And you don’t think he should have?” Rose asked.
“I’m not sure what I think. I know how much Lincoln hates slavery. I also know I get impatient myself when he won’t make it an issue in the war even though I think he should. His dedication is to preserving the Union of the country. I can’t condemn that because I hold it dear to my own heart as well.” She paused for a long minute and then shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “I think there are too many questions that don’t have easy answers. There are plenty of people who think they know the answers, but Lincoln is the one responsible for making the decisions. I know I’m very glad I’m not in his place.”
Silence fell on the room for several long minutes. A cool breeze waltzed through the open curtains and pushed them aside in a carefree dance. Rose stared at them thoughtfully as she allowed all the three were talking about to filter through her mind, at the same time trying to answer the questions her own heart was hurling at her.
Matthew was the first to speak. “I’ve thought so much about this issue. The hard reality is that if we are going to wage war to destroy a government based on slavery, I don’t think it’s possible to keep the war from revolving around the fundamental concept of human freedom. McClellan holds a deep sympathy for slave owners. I’m afraid he holds nothing but contempt for abolitionists. He believes the whole purpose of the war is simply to reunify the states.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Aunt Abby said in a troubled voice.
“I am, too,” Matthew continued. “He seems to have infected his troops with this same belief. However inept a military commander he may be, he is indeed a leader and most of his men adore him. They would follow him anywhere.”
Rose watched Matthew carefully. She knew him well enough to know he was leading up to something. She knew how much he despised slavery and all that it meant.
Matthew turned to stare out the window. “There are many people who want to proclaim this war is not being fought to end slavery. Yet the truth is that the war is about slavery. Lincoln can deny if for as long as he wants, but sooner or later he is going to have to face it - and do something about it.”
Rose felt hope soar within her. “So you believe Lincoln will eventually have to free the slaves?”
“I do,” Matthew said firmly. “People are already getting tired of the war. People will fight for a principle, but if they are expected to fight for a long time, I believe you have to put a human face on it. They have to fight for something more than just a principle.” He paused. “Lincoln is a good leader. I respect him. His passio
n is to save the Union. I believe he will have to declare war against slavery to do it.”
Rose sat back in her chair and stared at him.
“What are you thinking about, Rose?” Aunt Abby asked gently.
Rose wasn’t ready to put voice to her thoughts yet. She answered Aunt Abby’s question with another one. “What do you think of Anna Dickinson?”
Aunt Abby sat back in her chair with a surprised look. “How in the world did we jump to that topic?”
Rose said nothing, just waited.
“Isn’t Anna Dickinson the abolition movement’s newest star?” Matthew asked.
“She is,” Aunt Abby agreed, still looking at Rose curiously. “I’ve heard her speak on several occasions. She is only twenty years old and one of the most articulate speakers I have ever heard. Besides being a strong abolitionist, she is a staunch advocate of women’s rights. She began her speaking career here in Philadelphia.”
“I heard her speak a few weeks ago,” Rose offered. “She strongly believes emancipation should be an official war aim of the North. She believes that while the flag of freedom flies merely for the white man, God will be against the North.” She paused then pushed on. “She believes women should be equal with men. That we should vote. That we should share responsibility for what is going on in our country now.” She took a breath, her mind spinning too fast to be expressed in words.
Aunt Abby watched her for a moment then responded. “I believe God wants his people to be free,” she said slowly. “If that means he will be against the North until we proclaim emancipation - I don’t know. It wouldn’t exactly make sense that he would instead decide to stand on the side of the South since they are the ones holding people in bondage. No, I think God gets blamed for a lot of things men bring upon themselves.”
She paused. “As for the other - yes, I believe women are equal. I believe they should have the right to vote. Especially now. There are women all over this country carrying on for men who are on the battlefields. They are doing the job, not only because they have to but because they are perfectly capable. This war is a hideous thing, but I think it’s going to be a step forward for the women’s movement that started about twenty years ago. Women aren’t going to be content to step back into their old roles and molds.” Suddenly she laughed. “Now please tell me how we got onto this subject. Am I missing something?”
Rose stared around the room for a moment and then looked back. “A man from the contraband camps came to our school today. His name was Mr. Lockwood. He told us about the new schools being formed, about how hungry the ex-slaves are for education. Most of the slaves are completely uneducated, of course, but Mr. Lockwood said they were doing a lot of things in the camps to prove that blacks are just as capable, industrious, and educable as whites if they are treated fairly and given the same opportunities.”
“Of course, they are,” Aunt Abby agreed.
“He also said that proving those things would give a great impulse to the cause of emancipation. People in the North have many fears about what will happen if all the blacks are freed. He said relieving some of those fears would make it easier for Lincoln to make emancipation a reality.”
Aunt Abby leaned forward. “What are you saying, Rose?” she asked softly.
Rose let out a deep breath and stared around the comfortable room again. “I’m not going to wait until I finish school to be a teacher. My people need me. They need me now. Mr. Lockwood asked me if I would come join their efforts. I’m going to go down to the camps,” she said firmly. Just saying it – knowing she had made a decision - made her feel better.
“I see,” Aunt Abby said slowly.
Rose went on, “It’s not just because I’m black, not just because I was a slave. It’s more than that. It’s because I’m a woman, too. Anna Dickinson is right. We have to take responsibility for things. We have to be willing to step forward and do the things that need doing. I feel like I have to go, not only for my people, but also for other women.” She stopped, still overwhelmed with where her thoughts had taken her. She had been so uncertain when she had walked home. Somehow, in the midst of all the conversation, she had realized what she had to do.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Moses tried to flatten himself even deeper into the ditch as a group of soldiers wandered by. All the while he prayed the thick leafy cover would protect his hiding place. Holding his breath so that not even a rustling leaf would alert them, he ignored the pangs of hunger shooting through his body. He had more important things to worry about than food. He could hardly believe he had managed to elude capture for this long. When the soldiers’ voices faded in the distance, he let his breath out, swatted at the mosquitoes plastering his face, and listened carefully for more men passing by.
It had been two long days since Ike Adams had shown up in camp. It was almost impossible to believe his unit had not found him that night when they had come looking for him. One second sooner and he would not have been able to conceal himself in the thick leaves of a large oak tree. They had searched for over two hours in the dark until Palmer, disgusted and angry, had called them back to camp.
From where Moses sat huddled in the tree, he could hear everything they said. He listened as Ike Adams described him in detail. He had groaned silently when Palmer put two and two together and realized a Union spy had been serving his every need and listening to everything he said. Palmer’s anger would have been laughable if he had been somewhere other than thirty feet up in a tree with no way of escape. It had been almost dawn before he had crept down from the tree, his muscles screaming from being cramped for so long. He could barely walk when he had first dropped from the tree. The guard had his back turned when Moses inched past the horses and prayed one of them would not betray his presence.
Moses quit breathing again as a voice sounded just yards from where he lay. “Get your gear ready, men. I have the order for three days of rations. This looks like it’s the real thing. It will be dark soon. We move in the morning.”
. Moses breathed out again as the men moved away. How long would his hastily erected camouflage of leaves and limbs conceal his hiding place? At least he had the answer to one question. He had waited in vain the last two days for the sound of battle. Palmer had been so sure the order of three days of rations meant the next battle was at hand. For whatever reason, it had not happened. But now, if the fellow who had just spoken was right, the fighting would begin the next day. He had until tomorrow morning to make his way back to the Union side.
Moses forced himself to think calmly. He had basically been hiding for two days, the knowledge of what would happen to him if he were captured as a Union spy immobilizing him. The time for hiding was over. For him to get out of this alive, he would have to take bold action and trust it would come out all right. Slowly his heart calmed as planning overcame the fear that gripped him. As the fear receded, words Rose had spoken to him before he left echoed through his mind and heart. He had promised her he would come home. She had put a finger to his lips and lovingly said, “I believe you. I know you have to do this thing. I’m proud of you. I believe you’re going to open up the way for many more black men.” She had paused and looked deeply into his eyes. “One of the reasons I love you is that you’re a leader. I’m sorry I let my fears get the best of me.”
Moses knew he had let his own fears get the best of him. But no more. He had been so overwhelmed with his situation, so paralyzed by the supposed inevitability of capture, he had hidden from his fears. Another voice edged into his thoughts.
“Why, boy, you know what you got to do when you be afraid. You gots to act. Dat be the only thin’ will make dat fear demon run away. You gots to act and trust God will take you where he wants you.”
Moses smiled as Old Sarah’s voice rang clearly in his mind. His time with Rose’s mama had been much too short, but she had told him many things he would never forget. With a clear head he formulated his plans.
Moses leaned wearily against a tree, with mud pul
ling at his feet as water sloshed around his knees. If he never saw another swamp in his life, it would be much too soon. He wasn’t sure how many hours he had been surging his way through the stagnant, murky water.
“Who goes there?” a voice rang out.
Moses gritted his teeth and once more sank below the surface, just his head clearing the swamp. He struggled to control his fear as he felt a snake slither by in the darkness. Resolutely he kept his mind on his goal. If he let his imagination take its course, he would bolt and run. He would be captured within moments.
“I know I heard something, Captain,” the same voice insisted.
Another voice floated to him. “There’s so many animals in this god-forsaken swamp you could have heard anything. I don’t see anything moving now.”
Moses waited for what seemed an eternity before he dared to stand back up. Staring into the darkness, he stood still until he had convinced himself there was no danger. Slowly, he continued to move forward, praying he was headed in the right direction. The cloudy sky made it impossible to use the stars for navigation. It was also impossible to maintain a straight course through the swamp. He had lost count of times he had to crawl over logs and move around tangles of trees and brush.
Moses ignored the hunger and thirst racking his body. As creatures dropped on him from the trees, he flicked them away, gritting his teeth to fight his fear. Swarms of mosquitoes were simply to be endured. Blood clotted on his arms where tree limbs slashed and ripped at him as he forced his way through tangles. His legs ached from colliding with underwater stumps and logs. None of that was important. His mind was focused on a single goal - to reach the Union side safely. Rose was counting on him. He couldn’t let her down.
Neither could he let his captain down. He was sure Captain Jones had done some fancy talking to convince McClellan to send him over as a spy. He wasn’t going to let him down. Somehow he had to get back. He could only hope his information wouldn’t be too late to accomplish some good.
