by Ginny Dye
Another wave of blue flowed up the hill in a relentless assault. Equally relentless Confederate firepower drove them back again and again. Matthew stared in disbelief as the pile of dead continued to grow. He wasn’t sure how the Federals could continue to advance with so many lifeless bodies blocking their way. About three-thirty there was a lull. Matthew held his breath, hoping it was over - hoping Burnside would realize the futility of sending any more of his men to certain death.
He heard a distant yell and once again the Federals shot forward. Matthew groaned as nausea rose in his throat. This was not a battle. This was slaughter of the worst kind.
There was another lull at sunset. Surely it would be over now. Matthew stared in disbelief as yet another assault was ordered. The carnage finally ended around six o’clock, darkness cloaking the awful reality.
Matthew welcomed the numbness in his heart and mind as he moved out onto the battlefield. He had been at Antietam - nothing could possibly be worse than that. There was a stark difference on this battlefield. At Antietam the dead had been a mingling of blue and gray. Tonight there was nothing but blue - as far as the eye could see. If there were Confederate dead and wounded, they were on the hills. On the open plains, there was nothing but dead Federal soldiers.
Matthew stared up into the starry sky, wondering how they could dare shine on a night such as this. It better suited his mood to stare down into the white mist shrouding the river valley. The demolished town was swallowed in the fog. He felt as if he was groping along the shore of some nightmarish lake – a chillingly silent, nightmarish lake. Suddenly Matthew realized the night was not silent. As the rescue workers and correspondents emerged from the fog, they could hear the cries of the wounded. The noise rose on the still air, echoing all around them, wrapping them in the eerie sound. For a moment the echo died away then was pierced by an agonizing scream quavering across the darkness, only to rise again as thousands of men joined in a desperate chorus.
Matthew shuddered and turned back. He had seen enough. He would document the terrible scene as best he could but he knew there was no way for a reader to fully comprehend the horror. It was something that had to be experienced.
Matthew was up early the next morning. Something was drawing him back to the battlefield. He shuddered at the thought of going back onto the scene of such grisly carnage, but he slowly trudged up the hill. As a journalist, he had learned to listen to his instincts. He was saddened as he passed through the town of Fredericksburg. It had been utterly destroyed. It would take the residents a long time to rebuild. They had been in the wrong place at the wrong time - one of the millions who could make that claim.
He could only stop and stare when he reached the battlefield. He understood instantly that the needy Confederates had plundered the field out of dire necessity, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight. Hundreds of naked corpses lay in front of the stone wall, stripped of every bit of clothing as well as their shoes. Frozen stiff, their stark bodies resembled little more than cleaned hogs. Matthew tried to push the horrible analogy out of his mind, but it remained; the awfulness of war once more searing its way into in his brain. Even in death, the soldiers were no longer human beings - they were simply the bearers of new Confederate clothing. Matthew’s loathing of the war took on a new dimension as he gagged and then turned away.
Two days later Burnside ended the standoff, ordered his men back, took up his bridges, and admitted the whole adventure had been a miserable failure. The Battle of Fredericksburg was over.
Christmas was just ten days away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Rose had moved beyond the initial sickness of her pregnancy. She was sure she had never felt better in her life. Aside from the ever present ache of wishing Moses could share it with her, she was deliriously happy, smiling every time she felt her baby kick. She could hardly wait until May, not only because her baby would be born then - it would also mean the end of the brutal winter gripping the southeast.
How thankful she was for the warm clothes Aunt Abby had sent her and June, but her heart hurt for the many people in the camps who were suffering from the cold. Barrels of warm clothing arrived every day, but still there was not enough. Men were hauling in firewood from the surrounding forests, but houses were still cold, icy air whistling in through cracks. Sickness was once again rampant, with medical care insufficient and medicine scarce. Still, with all the troubles, the people Rose taught were glad to be here, glad to have a chance to learn and prepare themselves for the end of the war.
A smile exploded on Rose’s face as she felt her baby give another fluttering kick. She held her hands lovingly to her stomach. “You sweet thing,” she crooned. “You kick all you want. I can tell you have your daddy’s spirit. You certainly have his strength.”
June walked in just then, shutting the door behind her quickly to keep out the cold wind, then settled Simon on the bed, and began to unwrap his thick clothing. “I declare, I feel guilty every time I walk out the door. My little Simon is wrapped up so warm, and I see so many children running around with hardly anything on.”
Rose smiled sympathetically. “I understand. But our getting sick won’t do anyone any good. Barrels of clothing are continuing to flow in. Marianne is on another trip through the North. We will see the stream of supplies increase - she has a way of stirring compassion and giving in people.”
“I hope they get here soon,” June sighed. “Annabelle’s two youngsters have taken sick. So have Julia’s.”
Rose frowned. “Is it serious?”
“Who knows anymore. Something can start out as a cold and end up as something terrible. This is going to be a long winter,” she said heavily. “I’m so afraid something is going to happen to Simon. You ought to be mighty glad your baby won’t be born till spring!”
Rose searched for a brighter topic. “The plans for the Christmas party are going well. I talked to the superintendent. He actually convinced the fort commander to give us enough turkey and ham for everyone.” Her words did the trick.
“No kidding?” June exclaimed, her face bright again. “I can’t wait to see the looks on all the children’s faces when they see the feast we’re planning.”
“I can’t wait to see the look on the adults’ faces,” Rose laughed. “I know most of them are giving the best food to their children. It will be wonderful to have enough to go around. Even if it is just for one night,” she said wistfully.
“Well, it’s only three days away,” June reminded her. “How is the decorating going?”
“The building is starting to look beautiful. Some of the soldiers even helped us move in hundreds of chairs. The children have been streaming in, bringing armloads of cedar, magnolia, and holly berries. Amos even dragged in a huge tree. Annie picked it out herself. And guess who was with her?” Rose smiled excitedly.
June stared at her. “Harriet?” she asked in disbelief.
“Harriet!” Rose exclaimed. “This is the first time she’s been willing to go more than a few yards from her house. She looked scared to death when some of the soldiers came in with a load of chairs, but they were very nice to her.”
“I’m so glad,” June said fervently. “She can’t live her whole life being afraid. I know there are some Yankees who hate us and want to hurt us, but there are so many more who want to help.”
“We’re making progress,” Rose agreed. “Conditions are hard, but from everything Marianne has told me, they’re much better than this time last year. Our people are going to make it yet,” she said firmly.
“Of course, we are. If slavery didn’t kill us off, then a hard winter ain’t hardly gonna do the job,” June said indignantly. “Especially now that Lincoln has made us free.”
Rose shrugged and turned away to add another log to the fire.
June grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her around. “All right, now you’re gonna tell me why you’re not more excited about what Mr. Lincoln done. That Emancipation Proclamation. I know y
ou want us to be free. What’s wrong? I been letting you get off with this half-hearted approval long enough. Tell me what you’re thinking,” she demanded.
Rose stared at her for a minute then turned to hold her hands out to the fire. “I know it’s a first step,” she said quietly. “I’m grateful for that, but...”
“But what?”
“It doesn’t really free anyone. It does nothing to free slaves in the North, and unless the North wins the war, there is no way to enforce freedom for slaves in the South. A slave is still going to be a slave unless he runs away.”
“But you heard what Miss Lockins said,” June protested. “She said it was going to give the North a moral reason to fight. All of us are going to be free one day!”
Rose spun around. “I believe that, June. And I’m glad for what Lincoln did. I just can’t help wishing it was more. I know there is no way to enforce freedom for the slaves in the South yet, but I had hoped he would completely abolish slavery in the North and set all the slaves free.”
“It’s coming,” June said confidently.
Rose gazed at her. In the few short months June had been in the camps, she had become a new woman. An intelligent young lady, she had learned rapidly, devouring every book she could get her hands on. She had even developed a nest egg by doing wash for the army. Her confidence had grown by leaps and bounds. “Why are you so sure?”
“I read about it in one of the newspapers. Lincoln is pushing the North as far as he can. He has to consider the political part of it, you know.”
“The political part,” Rose asked, amused, yet impressed.
“People ain’t gonna be pushed further than they want to be pushed. You push too hard, and they’re going to start fighting you. But if you just kind of lead them, taking them a little step at a time, pretty soon they’ll be right up there beside you. Then you can take them where you wanted to in the first place.”
Rose laughed out loud. “I can certainly tell you’re Moses’ sister.”
June continued as if she hadn’t heard her. “People are going to learn to hate slavery more and more. As the hatred grows, the demand to see it end is going to grow. Pretty soon Lincoln will be able to abolish it completely.”
“I hope you’re right,” Rose said softly. “Oh, listen to me,” she exclaimed, shaking her head in disgust. “I sound like nothing but a whiny baby. So many good things are happening. I just get impatient, and I want to see it all happen at once. Of course, I’m glad Lincoln made any kind of step toward all the slaves being freed. I know it’s coming soon.”
“So what’s really bothering you?” June asked astutely.
Rose turned back to the fire again. It was nice to have someone around who knew her well enough to discern when she was troubled. “I guess all this talk about Christmas has made me miss Moses so much.” She shook her head. “I know you miss Simon, too. He doesn’t even know he has a son.”
“And the aching in my heart never goes away,” June said simply. “One day we’ll all be together again.” Her voice broke. “If I didn’t believe that, I couldn’t make it.”
Rose tried to find comfort in her words, but her earlier happiness had been snatched away by the cold winds of loneliness.
Carrie stepped into the hospital and stared in surprise.
Pastor Anthony strode up to her, a broad smile on his face. “I’m so glad you could come, Carrie. All the patients wanted you to celebrate Christmas Eve with them. I’m sorry Janie couldn’t be here, but I know she was needed at Chimborazo.”
“I’m just glad most of our patients are home celebrating with their families,” Carrie said, smiling. “Where did all these children come from?” There were at least ten girls, aged ten to fourteen moving from bed to bed, laughing and talking with the patients.
Pastor Anthony looked at them fondly. “They are some of the girls from my church. They asked if they could come down and cheer up the patients. I helped them all get jobs down at the munitions laboratory down on Brown’s Island.”
“They’re just children!” Carrie protested.
“I understand how you feel,” Pastor Anthony said. “But the money they make is helping feed their families. I go down and spend time with them several times a week to make sure they’re well treated. I’ve had no complaints so far.”
“But after what happened to Opal’s Aunt Fannie...”
“That was a horrible accident. But surely you realize occurrences like that are rare.” Pastor Anthony reached out his hand and touched her shoulder. “We all must do things we’d rather not in times like these. The girls will be all right.”
Carrie nodded reluctantly, watching the girls move from bed to bed. Smiles and laughter filled the hospital. Just then the youngest girl darted over and planted herself directly in front of her.
“Hi,” she said, suddenly shy. “I reckon you be Miss Cromwell - the doctor.” She looked up admiringly, her chocolate eyes shining.
“Yes, I’m Miss Cromwell. But you can call me Miss Carrie.” Carrie was immediately captivated by the little girl. She bent down to look into her face. “What’s your name?”
“My name be Elvira. I’m ten!” She took a quick breath. “Merry Christmas!” Then as if embarrassed she had said so much, she darted off again.
Carrie laughed. “What a darling.”
Pastor Anthony nodded. “Her mother was real sick until Elvira started making money to help feed them. Their father was conscripted to work on fortifications. Without him around, the family was going hungry.”
Carrie nodded thoughtfully. The pastor was right. All of them were having to do things they would rather not. Still -- her heart hurt when she thought of these beautiful young girls cooped up in the munitions factory for twelve to fourteen hours a day. She was glad Opal had taken Fannie’s children out to the plantation. At least they were getting plenty of fresh air and food.
“We’d like to sing you a song, Miss Carrie. It be your Christmas present.”
Carrie had not seen Elvira flash back to stand in front of her. “I’d like that very much,” she said, smiling.
Elvira turned and ran to join the other girls standing in the midst of the beds. All Carrie’s patients were propped up on pillows, even the sickest ones determined to take part. An elderly man pulled out a stick and began to beat time against the frame of his bed. Seconds later their pure voices, harmonizing perfectly, poured forth.
When I was a learner
I sought both night and day,
I asked the Lord to aid me
And he showed me the way.
Go tell it on the mountain,
Over the hills and everywhere
Go tell it on the mountain,
That Jesus Christ is born.
Carrie clapped her hands in delight. “Thank you so much. That was a wonderful gift.”
“That ain’t all they got for you,” Elvira cried. Evidently she had been made the spokesman for the group. Everyone else seemed quite content to let the precocious little girl do all the talking. She grinned and flew to peek under one of the beds. “There be a surprise for you here, Miss Carrie. For Miss Janie, too - only she ain’t here.”
Mystified, Carrie walked over and leaned down. Her face split into a smile as she pulled out a large basket full of sweet potatoes. She knew exactly how much sacrifice this was for her patients.
“People been bringing sweet taters all week!” Elvira sang out.
“She’s right,” Pastor Anthony smilingly confirmed. “Everyone who had some brought one over. It was the only way they knew how to say thank you.”
Carrie’s heart caught in her throat. Blinking back her tears, she smiled brightly. “I think it’s the most wonderful Christmas gift I’ve ever received. Thank you.” Suddenly the memories of past Christmases with their elaborate celebrations faded away. The basket in her hands represented a sacrificial act of love. “I’ll never forget this,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”
It didn’t take Carrie long to do her
rounds; most of the patients still there would soon be able to go home. A few new cases of pneumonia had been brought in, but taking everything into consideration, the blacks along the river were doing well. Carrie felt a deep sense of satisfaction as she called Merry Christmas to her patients and left.
Pastor Anthony walked her out to the carriage where Spencer was waiting. “You feel all right going home alone?”
“I’m not really alone,” Carrie laughed, patting the pistol tucked into her waistband. She looked into the kindly pastor’s eyes. “I’m sorry you won’t be joining us for Christmas dinner tomorrow, but I’m glad you’re going to spend time with your son.”
“He’s a good boy,” Pastor Anthony responded. “We’ve shared a lot of Christmases together. Adopting him was the best thing my wife and I ever did.”
“Jeremy is adopted?”
“Yes. My wife and I tried for years to have children, but we never could. Finally the Lord gave us Jeremy. He’s been such a joy. I don’t know that I would have survived Elizabeth’s death without him.”
“I’m so glad you have him,” Carrie said warmly. A part of her wondered why the pastor had never remarried, but it was certainly none of her business. She turned to climb into the carriage then hesitated. “Your son reminds me so much of someone.”
“Oh? Who is that?”
“I don’t know,” Carrie admitted with a wry laugh. “I just feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.” She shook her head. “I may figure it out one of these days.”
As Spencer urged the horse up the hill, Carrie wondered at the sudden shadow that had cloaked Pastor Anthony’s eyes.
