by Ginny Dye
“Yeah!” Pompey raised his fist to the sky and yelled out.
All around him fists were raised into the air, and strong voices competed against all the other sounds of a suddenly bustling army.
Matthew exchanged a long look with Moses and smiled slightly at the gratitude he saw there. They clasped hands for a long moment, and then Moses turned to his men. Matthew strode off, knowing he must get back to press headquarters.
The spring campaign was about to start.
The sun was barely over the horizon when Aunt Abby’s driver pulled the carriage up in front of her house the next morning. He loaded her two trunks, helped her into the carriage, and then clucked to the horses. “Move on!”
Aunt Abby leaned back against the seat and took a deep breath. She was on her way to Washington, D.C. She had decided in the last few weeks that the nation’s capital was where she belonged for the time being. There was certainly much she, a widow, could achieve with the business she had inherited from her husband right there in Philadelphia. But her decision to go came from her belief she could accomplish more in the nation’s capital in her fight for complete freedom for the slaves and for the fledgling women’s rights movement.
She allowed her thoughts to wander until suddenly the carriage jolted to a stop as the horses threw their heads up in protest.
“What do you think you’re doing?” her driver said sharply as a group of men stepped into the road with one coiling the whip he had used to startle the horses into stopping.
“We need to have a little discussion with Mrs. Livingston here,” a slight, narrow-faced man snarled.
“I have an appointment to keep,” Aunt Abby snapped. “We need to move on,” she said firmly.
“I reckon we’ll say when that happens,” another man piped in, dark hair covered by a rough black cap. His eyes were cruel and hard.
Aunt Abby reached slowly under her seat. “What do you men want?”
“We figure we need to come to a meeting of minds.”
“I’m quite sure my mind will never meet with men who accost women in the middle of the street,” Aunt Abby said with disdain. She had learned that to show fear would only make things worse, but how she longed for Matthew to appear and save her as he had in the past. She knew, though, that this time she was on her own. The certain knowledge somehow fueled her courage.
The slight man snarled and his eyes turned even crueler. “It’s this way, Mrs. Livingston. You’re messing up things for me and the boys by paying those broads who work for you too much money.”
“Is that so?” Aunt Abby had heard rumors that many weren’t happy with her business practices.
“It needs to change,” the man snapped.
“Or what?” Aunt Abby demanded, staring at him boldly, well aware her driver was terrified.
“Or we figure this whip will be used for more than stopping your horses.”
Aunt Abby had heard enough. She took deep breaths to calm her breathing so that her voice wouldn’t betray her terror, along with her anger. She reached beneath her seat and pulled out the pistol that she carried everywhere now. She stood and pointed the pistol right at the man’s heart.
“Whether it’s you or another in your group that pulls out a whip, this bullet is going straight through your heart,” she said coldly. “And then I’ll make sure the rest of the bullets are put to good use.”
“You’re bluffing,” the man whined, a look of fear settling on his face.
“Try me,” Aunt Abby said, almost enjoying herself now that she was the one with the power. She silently blessed Matthew for giving her the pistol before he had left town a few days before. She had protested at the time, but he had been so right. “You’re in my way, and I have places to go. Now move!” she demanded.
There was muttering, but all the men cleared the road.
“Let’s go,” Aunt Abby said quietly to her driver. He complied quickly while Aunt Abby remained standing firmly and kept her pistol trained on the group until they disappeared around a bend. “Continue on to the station,” she said calmly.
“Would you have really used that thing?” her driver asked as he stared at the pistol.
“I don’t know,” Aunt Abby admitted, her voice shaking now that the moment had passed. “I’ve never shot a pistol in my life. I’m quite glad I didn’t have to find out.”
The driver stared at her with admiration and then increased the horses’ speed. “I’ll have you to the station on time, Mrs. Livingston.”
Aunt Abby nodded, settled back in her seat, and longed for the day when things would change for women in the country she loved so much. Then her thoughts turned to Matthew. She was terrified for him to be back near a battlefield because she knew the battle surely must start soon.
Chapter Four
It was just past midnight when Robert felt movement beside him. He sat up quickly.
“It’s going to happen today, ain’t it, Captain?”
Robert nodded then realized Tabor, a young man from Alabama, couldn’t see him. “Yes.”
“The fellas said you got called away tonight. Anything you can tell us?”
Robert believed the men had every right to know what he did. He would never reveal battle plans, but what he knew wasn’t going to be a secret much longer. He knew orders would ring out any minute. “I was part of a group General Lee called up to the top of Clark’s Mountain.”
He paused, remembering the overwhelming feeling that had engulfed him when he looked down at the vast army of men dressed in blue spread out on the opposite riverbank. There was no need to talk about any of that. Every Rebel soldier knew they were woefully outnumbered.
“What did you see, Captain?” Tabor asked quietly.
Robert knew the calmness in his voice had come from the experience of many battles. “They’re preparing to break camp,” Robert said simply. “I believe it will happen today. General Lee is very sure he knows exactly where they are going.”
“So we’re going to meet them there,” Tabor said eagerly.
Robert hesitated then decided to tell him a little more. “Not exactly. We’re going to let them come a little farther. General Lee’s plan is to lure them into overconfidence and then strike them by surprise when they are least expecting it.”
Tabor didn’t ask where because he knew Robert wouldn’t tell him even if he knew. “I reckon the general has a good plan. Me and the boys will give it our all.”
As he had many times in the past, Robert felt deep gratitude at the loyalty Lee inspired in his army. Loyalty was surely the only thing that had kept them alive this far into the war. “I know you will, Tabor. We’re going to lick them again!”
Robert didn’t intend to tell him what General Longstreet, whose troops would remain in the background so they could fall back to protect Richmond, had said. He had learned that Longstreet had been the best man at General Grant’s wedding to a cousin and, therefore, knew their new Union opponent quite well. What he had said still rang in Robert’s head. ‘That man will fight us every day and every hour till the end of this war.’
Robert suspected Lee hadn’t been very daunted by the statement. He wondered whether that fact would create even more danger for them, but he wouldn’t say any of that to the men trusting him to give them confidence.
There was a long silence, and then Tabor melted back into the darkness. Robert stared up at the stars and let his thoughts drift to Carrie. As with every battle, he wondered whether he would see her shining green eyes again. He had embedded every detail of her into his mind and heart. As in the past, he knew it was what would carry him through the days ahead.
Thousands would die or be horribly wounded. Would he be one of them again?
Moses and Pompey moved through the men and inspected haversacks by the campfire light as they went. The new recruits always over packed for a campaign. Moses found another haversack stuffed with clothing.
He calmly reached in and began to pull things out. “You have too much.”
He cut the bag down to a change of underclothing, three pairs of socks, a pair of spare shoes, three plugs of tobacco, a rubber blanket, and a pair of woolen blankets.
“That’s it, sir?” the recruit asked, staring at the much larger mound Moses had tossed aside.
“Yes,” Moses replied. “Do not pick up anything except food and tobacco while you are on the march. Get hold of all the food you can. Cut haversacks from dead men. Don’t look at clothing or shoes or blankets. You can get those items from the quartermaster.”
He knew other men were listening in. “Stick to your gun through thick and thin. Don’t straggle. Fill your canteen at every stream we cross and wherever else you get the chance. Never wash your feet until the day’s march is over. If you wash them they will surely blister.”
His men listened solemnly.
“It’s today, ain’t it, Moses?” one asked.
“Yes,” he said simply. “Be ready when you hear my order. We’ll be moving before the sun comes up.”
Just twenty minutes later, Moses strode back into camp and snapped his order. “Let’s move, men!”
Matthew was with General Grant and General Meade when they crossed the Rapidan at Germanna Ford and established their headquarters in an old farmhouse on a bluff overlooking the river.
“Can you believe Congressman Washburne is with him?” Peter Jansen asked.
Matthew shared a cryptic look with the man he had escaped Libby Prison with. He had been thrilled when Peter found him just hours before. “Perhaps we should tell him the story of Congressman Ely; how he did the same thing and found himself a guest of Libby Prison,” he said. “We could share with him just why he doesn’t want to be there.”
Peter nodded. “I know Congressman Washburne has been instrumental in Grant’s rise to the top. I guess he wants to watch what he feels he is responsible for.”
“He might want to wear something besides all black. It won’t be long before the heat gets to him,” Matthew observed wryly.
Peter snorted with laughter. “I heard some of the men asking if Grant had brought his personal undertaker.”
Matthew chuckled but fell silent when a reporter called out to Grant, “How long do you think it will take to reach Richmond?’
Grant, in a good mood, paused in smoking his cigar. “About four days. That is if General Lee approves the agreement, but if he objects, the trip will undoubtedly be prolonged.”
Matthew turned around to talk to Peter, but a courier dashing up and handing the general a message interrupted their conversation. Grant’s face tightened as he read the words; then he whipped around and snapped out an order.
Matthew drew closer and listened carefully until he could determine what was happening. He returned to where Peter was waiting. “General Lee is on the move, moving much faster than Grant anticipated. He’s ordered General Burnside to join the troops.”
“I thought he was going to leave Burnside and his troops on the north side of the Rapidan to protect the railroad,” Peter said.
Matthew nodded. “He changed his mind. It’s not the first time Lee has had this effect.” He knew Peter had spent most of his time covering the war in Mississippi until Vicksburg fell. “Lee very seldom does what you would expect him to do. That’s why his army is still alive. He can’t be taken for granted.”
“You sound like a fan,” Peter said,
“Let’s just say I wish he was fighting for the Union. This war would have ended a long time ago!’
Robert gazed out over his men and knew they had earned the exhausted looks on their faces. They had marched all day down the Orange Turnpike until they moved past the old fortifications at Mine Run and then had moved quietly through the dense woods, which they called The Wilderness. Now the troops had positioned themselves for a daylight attack.
Robert had just returned from a briefing. He knew they were to attack early in the morning. The Union troops were completely unaware of the Confederates’ close proximity. General Longstreet’s army and the backup they could provide were still a full day away, but Lee felt he had no choice. If Grant got through the wilderness unscathed, the full brunt of the Union Army would have a clear path around Lee’s southern flank to Richmond. If that happened, the war would be lost.
Attacking immediately would at least give the Confederates a fighting chance.
“This is it, Captain?” Tabor materialized and spoke quietly, staring into the dense woods.
“We fight in the morning,” Robert stated simply.
“What if we lose?”
“We’re not going to lose,” Robert spoke what he knew was in Lee’s mind. “If victorious, we have everything to live for. If defeated, there will be nothing left for us to live for.” He paused and let the words sink in. “It’s simple, really. We just don’t lose.”
Tabor stared at him, nodded, and slipped away. Robert knew the young soldier would spread the word. The men had every right to be afraid and nervous, but he knew they would fight with everything they had.
Moses felt the same as what he saw on his men’s faces. An ominous dread had settled over the entire camp. Who could blame them?
After a day of steady marching, the Yankee troops were camped among the disinterred remains of the hastily buried Union dead at Chancellorsville.
His men had tried to make light of it by pointing out that the greenest grass and the brightest flowers were fed by Union blood. “This ground was made rich by our soldiers,” one of his men stated. Most had merely stared at him, their faces tightening when one of them uncovered a bullet-shattered skull from a shallow grave and rolled it across the ground.
“De men are right scared,” Pompey stated quietly, easing up to where Moses stood.
“Who can blame them?” Moses muttered. “They’re seeing evidence of what is coming.” His own stomach was doing flips, and he fought to steady his breathing as he stared into the deep woods. He could tell the next day would be hot. His men - former slaves used to the heat of the South - would be fine, but he knew it would be much harder for the out-of-shape Northern white troops who had spent all winter eating and lounging about camp.
The next day dragged by slowly in the hot stillness. More and more Union troops marched in to join them, their line stretching for two miles on the Orange Turnpike. Suspense and dread hung in the air as thick as the humidity that threatened to strangle them.
“Moses?”
Moses shook his head at Pompey. “I feel it, too. This isn’t going to be good.” Knowing he had to focus completely on what was about to happen in the brambly cornfield they faced, he tried to keep his mind off Rose and John.
“You reckon dem boys of Colonel Ryan’s know what a good target dey make?”
Moses glanced over at the gaily colored uniforms of the 140th New York Zouaves. He shook his head. “They sure will be easy targets.” He couldn’t help thinking maybe those bright colors drawing Rebel bullets would mean more of his own men would make it.
“It done been a real honor, Moses.”
Moses whipped his head around. “What?”
Pompey’s face was set, his eyes steady. “Iffen I don’t make it out of dat cornfield, I just be wantin’ you to know it done been a real honor.”
Moses stared at him and wanted to shout that everything would be okay, but he knew lying wouldn’t serve anyone. Instead he reached out and gripped his friend’s hand. “I feel the same way, Pompey. You’ve become a real friend. If I don’t make it, I want you to know how much I appreciate and love you.”
Pompey held his hand and gazed into Moses’ eyes for a long minute. Then he nodded and turned back to stare at the cornfield.
Robert and his men were concealed in the trees on the western edge of a bramble-choked cornfield. Holding their positions, the Southern army had been watching the Union buildup all day.
Robert knew the heat was choking his men. He also knew his unit had a real advantage against the Union troops; his troops were used to it because they had been fighting in this
kind of heat for three years. Robert would take any advantage he could get.
The order came at one o’clock in the afternoon.
Robert watched the blue wave moving into the cornstalks, closed his eyes for a moment, raised his rifle, and upon hearing the order, began firing.
The lines of blue began to melt away like snow…
“Let’s get them, men!”
Moses and his men began running the minute the order came, straight into the cornfield thick with brambles and thorns. They fought to break through the dense cover. Wild yelling, fortified by defiant determination, replaced fearful silence.
Moses struggled through the brambles and groaned as he heard screams of agony replace defiant shouts. His men disappeared as if the ground had swallowed them. Then the musket smoke settled in and obliterated almost everything. Moses could barely tell where he was, much less where his men were. He embraced the thought that these conditions would also have to make it harder for the Confederate sharpshooters to pick them off.
“Retreat! Retreat!” Moses yelled. He knew there was no way anyone would make it across that field, and he saw no sense in more slaughter.
Moses’ body was drenched with sweat and covered with splattered blood from men shot down around him when he stumbled back behind the lines. He stared around, numb with shock, then gazed back at the cornfield. He knew that at least half of his men would never make it out. Tears pooled in his eyes.
He caught sight of Colonel George Ryan, the commander for the soldiers clothed in the gaily-colored uniforms. The colonel, weeping, peered through the dense smoke for some sign of his men. “My God,” he cried, “I’m the first colonel I ever knew who couldn’t tell where his regiment was!”
