by Ginny Dye
Matthew shook his head in amazement. “I sometimes can’t believe how far the Union navy has come in four years of war. We couldn’t have even dreamed of boats like this one before then.”
“Nor that a navy with forty-three vessels would expand to over six hundred fifty-five,” Peter commented. “I believe this is a perfect example of the old adage necessity is the mother of invention.”
Matthew continued to look around as he prayed for his stomach to settle. “Are those the Dahlgren rifles I’ve heard so much about?”
Peter chuckled and nodded. “If you can call a fifty-pound gun that shoots cannon balls with incredible accuracy a rifle, I reckon it is.”
Matthew focused his attention on the gun to keep his mind off the heaving ship. It had taken him two days to get here on a smaller vessel. It wasn’t until today, when the storm churned up the waves, that he’d had trouble. He forced himself to concentrate on details.
“Admiral Dahlgren, the commander of the Pawnee, headed the Navy’s ordnance department.”
“With good reason,” Peter agreed. “The man is a genius. The guns and cannons he has designed are a big reason we’re winning this war. Besides creating the designs, he also directed the navy in establishing its own foundry to manufacture new equipment.”
“Impressive.”
“Definitely. About a year and a half ago, he was promoted to rear admiral and took command of the South Atlantic Blockading Squadron. He’s not one to mess around.” Peter paused and then added, “He’s also representative of what makes this whole war so crazy.”
Matthew cocked an eyebrow, still too ill to really care what Peter alluded to.
Peter grinned. “Need more time to recover?”
Matthew nodded, his attempt at a smile failing.
“When the war started,” Peter continued, “his superior in the Navy yard resigned to join the Confederate navy, so Dahlgren was promoted to captain and took over. It was his son…”
Suddenly Matthew remembered, and his eyes widened. “His son was the colonel who led the cavalry raid into Richmond. Dahlgren’s son was to assassinate Jefferson Davis and get us out of Libby Prison.” Matthew frowned. “But Colonel Dahlgren was killed.”
“Yes. The papers found on Dahlgren’s body indicated plans for the assassination and were widely circulated throughout Europe as an example of Union barbarism. Assassination plans created quite the uproar in the South, as well as in Europe.”
“Must have been tough on Admiral Dahlgren,” Matthew said sympathetically.
“Yeah. Then there’s his other son,” Peter continued cryptically.
“I didn’t realize he had another son,” Matthew replied. “Does he serve?”
“Oh, yes,” Peter said quietly, “but not on the same side.”
“He’s a Confederate?” Matthew asked with surprise.
“A Confederate brigadier general and a strong proponent of slave ownership. He’s the commander of the 3rd Brigade, Army of Mississippi. He happened to fund it himself.”
Matthew looked out over the pitching waves, his stomach forgotten for the moment. “I can’t imagine what it will be like for Dahlgren’s family when this war is over,” he murmured. “How do you overcome such disparate beliefs and actions?”
“It’ll happen in far too many families,” Peter agreed, and then he narrowed his eyes as he examined Matthew. “You look like you’re feeling better. Are you ready for the real news?”
Matthew was surprised to find he was indeed feeling better. A glance over the side of the boat revealed the waves had diminished, and the talking had taken his mind off his stomach, giving it time to settle. “Let’s have it,” he answered, managing to give what passed as a real smile. “My editor seems quite sure Savannah is about to fall.”
“There’s no way around it,” Peter replied. “But first, I expected you to be assigned to Sherman’s march across Georgia. What happened?”
Matthew shrugged. “I was assigned. I refused.”
“Refused?”
“I told my editor I had watched plenty of burning in the Shenandoah Valley and that I would not spend weeks watching more of the same.” Matthew’s eyes darkened with the memories of what he had seen during those weeks.
“His reaction?”
Matthew shrugged. “He wasn’t pleased. I told him he could have my resignation or send me somewhere else. He’d never had me refuse anything before, so he sent me down to Washington to cover Lincoln’s election. I’ve been hanging around in D.C. and Philadelphia for the past six weeks.” He looked at Peter. “What about you?”
“I was with Sherman,” Peter said quietly.
“You were?” Matthew gazed around him. “How did you end up on this boat then?”
“I was with the troops that took Fort McAllister on the thirteenth. It opened up the supply link between the Union navy and Sherman’s troops. My editor assigned me to the Pawnee in case there is a bombardment of Savannah.”
Matthew gazed at him and recognized the look in his friend’s eyes. “What was it like?” he asked quietly. “Being with Sherman’s army?”
Peter sighed. “It was bad,” he said. “I truly believe General Sherman is confident he took the course necessary to end the war, but the hatred and seeds of bitterness his actions took will be felt for a very long time.”
Matthew understood the shadow that fell over his friend’s eyes and the tightness that turned his face to stone.
“The army pretty much destroyed every part of Georgia they touched. They burned farms and plantations, took crops and livestock, killed people who resisted…” Peter’s voice thickened. “Sherman’s men destroyed every manufacturing facility they found and totally demolished hundreds of miles of railroad tracks.”
“His goal was to inflict maximum psychological, economic, and tactical damage to the Confederacy,” Matthew observed, understanding the agony Peter had endured for the last weeks.
“Sherman accomplished it,” Peter said shortly, then gazed out over the water, his eyes betraying his confusion. “It’s so hard to know what is right.”
“You can’t possibly think all that destruction was right!” Matthew protested.
“No, but what is…?” Peter’s face twisted. “That’s the question that keeps me awake at night. I don’t agree with what happened, but I don’t know what could have been done differently that would have had the same impact.”
“Do you think it was worth it?”
Peter stared out at the waves for long moments, and then he finally shook his head. “I can’t possibly answer that question. I don’t think anyone can right now because we don’t know the ramifications of Sherman’s actions. The immediate results may indicate it was worth it, but what about when the war is over? What about fifty years from now when bitterness still mandates how people think?” His voice trailed off. “I just don’t know.”
“So, what now? I understood Savannah was well protected behind solid entrenchments.”
“It is,” Peter replied. “When Sherman got here on the 10th, he discovered Hardee with ten thousand men in good positions. In addition, Hardee had flooded all the surrounding rice fields, leaving only narrow causeways available to approach the city. Sherman was blocked from hooking up with the Union navy, and he was running out of supplies.”
“Until he attacked Fort McAllister.”
“Right. The battle only lasted fifteen minutes, but it opened up the supply lines.”
Matthew stared toward the spires of Savannah he could see in the distance. He’d spent time there before the war and loved the elegant city with its carefully laid out city blocks. “What now?”
Peter shrugged. “It’s up to them.” He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. “Sherman sent a letter to Hardee three days ago.”
I have already received guns that can cast heavy and destructive shot as far as the heart of your city; also I have for some days held and controlled every avenue by which the people and garrison of Savannah can be supplied, an
d I am therefore justified in demanding the surrender of the city of Savannah, and its dependent forts, and shall wait a reasonable time for your answer, before opening with heavy ordnance. Should you entertain the proposition, I am prepared to grant liberal terms to the inhabitants and garrison; but should I be forced to resort to assault, or the slower and surer process of starvation, I shall then feel justified in resorting to the harshest measures, and shall make little effort to restrain my army – burning to avenge the national wrong which they attach to Savannah and other large cities which have been so prominent in dragging our country into civil war.
Matthew pondered the words for a minute. “That’s pretty clear. The people of Savannah have to have a fairly clear picture of what could happen to their town if they don’t surrender.”
“I’m sure the people of Savannah do,” Peter agreed quickly, “but Hardee may not feel the same way. If he tries to hold it, I fear it will be another Atlanta.”
“Do you think he will try?”
“My understanding is that he wrote a letter back saying Sherman was overstating his position and that he has no intention of surrendering the city.”
Matthew winced. “There may be no cities left in the South if this continues.”
A sudden holler from the water caught their attention. They watched as a smaller boat pulled to the side, the men in the boat waving their arms wildly.
Peter sprang forward. “Those are journalists from New York City. They snuck into town this morning to see what they could discover. I’ve been watching for them all day, wondering if they would make it back.”
He and Matthew, along with a couple more men, helped the journalists onto the Pawnee and then waited for them to speak.
“They’re gone,” one man said excitedly.
“Who?” Peter asked.
“Hardee. And his entire army.”
“How?” Matthew sputtered, turning to stare at the shore. “How did he move ten thousand men?”
The man who had spoken looked at Matthew for a moment. “You the journalist from Philadelphia who escaped Libby Prison?”
Matthew nodded.
“Then you’ll appreciate what Hardee did,” he said with a grin, stepping forward to shake his hand. “I’m Frank McCanna. I’ve been an admirer of yours for a long time.”
Matthew flushed, but shook his hand firmly. “Tell me how Hardee pulled it off.”
“In spite of his earlier reply to Sherman, Hardee realized the only course he really had was to retreat if he didn’t want to lose his entire army.” Frank looked around at the listening men. “Anyone know what a rice field flat is?”
Matthew nodded. “It’s a shallow skiff about eighty feet long. They use them to harvest the rice. But what…?”
“Hardee linked them as floats for a bridge from the foot of West Broad Street in the city to Hutchinson’s Island, to Pennyworth Island, and then on to the South Carolina shore.”
All the men listening whistled in amazement.
“Railroad car wheels were used to anchor the flats in the river, and planks from waterfront buildings served as the bridging material,” Frank continued. “They even covered the whole thing with rice straw to muffle the noise.”
Matthew shook his head in amazement. “Ten thousand men?”
“And forty-nine field guns,” Frank confirmed. “They’re gone.”
All the men sat silently as they absorbed the news. “Have to admire that kind of ingenuity,” Peter observed. “It’s another army we have to finish off before the war will end, but I can’t feel anything but admiration for Hardee.”
“What now?” Matthew asked the obvious question.
“Richard Arnold, the mayor of Savannah, rode out this morning and surrendered the city.” Frank grinned. “How do you think we got so much information? Federal troops reached the City Exchange early this morning and raised our flag.”
Matthew and Peter cheered with the rest of the men. Matthew wasn’t sure whether he was more excited about the victory the North had won or about the fact he might find a bed on solid ground that night.
Carrie was used to the sound of her father’s heavy footsteps. Nothing but bad news was coming from every direction as Christmas approached. Her heart ached for him as he stepped in the door, his face creased with heavy lines.
“Not much good news, I’m afraid,” Robert said when Thomas walked through the door.
Instantly the frown lines disappeared in a warm smile. “Robert!” Thomas exclaimed, striding forward to grasp his hand and then pull him into a hug. “When did you get home?”
“This morning. You had already left for the Capitol.”
Thomas looked over at Carrie. “Obviously the two of you have had a wonderful day. I haven’t seen my daughter this happy for quite some time. She has her glow back,” he said approvingly.
Carrie threw another couple logs on the fire and answered her father’s question before he asked it. “Miles is helping May in the kitchen. She insisted on a special dinner tonight since Robert is home again. She’s pulling some vegetables out of the cellar. I don’t know what she’s doing in there, but it smells heavenly. I told Miles I would keep the fire going.”
Thomas nodded and sat down in his chair, the frown settling on his face again.
Robert settled down in the chair beside him. “It’s no good to pretend our situation isn’t dire, Thomas. Is there more news?”
Thomas stared into the flames for a long moment. “Savannah has fallen.”
Robert frowned. “So quickly? Sherman got there less than two weeks ago. I wasn’t aware there was a battle.”
“There wasn’t,” Thomas said shortly. “Hardee took all his men and escaped.”
“All of them?” Carrie asked. “How?”
“Word came through today,” Thomas said and then explained Hardee’s escape. “It was a brilliant escape, but we have lost another city.”
“Hardee didn’t stand a chance against Sherman’s army. They had four times as many men,” Robert observed. “If he had stayed and fought, Savannah would have been destroyed the same way Atlanta was.”
Thomas flushed with anger. “Ah, yes, Atlanta…”
Carrie gazed at him with sympathy. She knew how much he had loved the Georgian city. It had almost broken his heart when he heard it had been burned.
“Is the news from Georgia as bad as I’ve heard?” Robert asked. “We got some news up in the Valley, but I’m sure we didn’t get the whole story.”
“If you received enough news to know the Union army destroyed Georgia, you got the gist of it,” Thomas said sadly, bitterness edging into his voice.
Robert nodded heavily while Carrie’s thoughts flew to Louisa and Perry again.
“Sherman set out to destroy not only a state, but also the morale and determination of a nation,” Thomas said.
“And did he succeed?” Robert asked quietly.
Thomas looked up sharply. “You sound as if you hope he did, Robert.”
Robert gazed at him evenly for long moments, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the room. “You know as well as I do that we cannot win this war, Thomas. Any hope of their letting us go died with Lincoln’s re-election. Now the North will continue to wear us down and burn us out. For how long?” He stared into the flames. “How much more destruction? How much more death?”
Carrie knew the sorrow he carried from what he had witnessed in the Valley. She had lain beside him while he napped, holding him close when his body jerked with nightmares, and his breathing turned to gasps. She longed to soothe all the pain from his tortured eyes, but she knew only time and love could do that. She had prayed all day that even that would work. But first the war had to end…
Thomas locked eyes with him. “I don’t know how to do anything but fight,” he finally murmured. “What will happen when the war is over?” His shoulders slouched under the weight of his thoughts.
He suddenly looked up at Robert. “Will you continue to fight?”
; Robert nodded stoically. “I will fight. Everything will soon center on Richmond. Sherman has taken Savannah, but I’m sure he will move north at some point to join Grant’s army. I don’t know that I really have a choice, but I will fight to protect the ones I love. Carrie. You.”
Carrie blinked back the tears as she watched the tortured expression play over Robert’s face in the firelight. A cold wind whistled down the chimney as the lanterns around the room flickered into the shadows. Her heart was breaking as she stared at the two men she loved most; both dealing with so much pain and loss.
She was so happy Robert was home, but she knew it was only temporary, and then she would go back to the worry and agony of separation.
Suddenly an image of the rainbow sprang to mine. Choose joy for just this moment, Carrie, she reminded herself. For just this moment. She took a deep breath and forced a smile to her face.
“What will come, will come,” she said firmly, “but for tonight we have each other. We have a warm home and an amazing meal that May will soon serve. We can’t change what is happening, but we can change how we live tonight.”
Both Robert and Thomas gazed at her, obviously trying to break free from their feelings – if only for her sake.
Thomas was the first to speak. “She won’t let me wallow in my self-pity,” he said, managing a weak smile. “She keeps telling me I have so much to be grateful for.”
Robert walked over and wrapped his arm around Carrie. “And, as usual, she is right. Savannah is gone. Grant is here, and Sherman is coming. But not tonight,” he said firmly. “Tonight we have each other.”
Then the door opened, with the wind catching it and banging it against the wall, the chandelier swaying and tinkling. Janie and Clifford walked in laughing, Jeremy on their heels.
Jeremy was the first to notice Robert. “So you’re the famous husband,” he said, smiling as he came forward to give him a strong handshake.
“And you’re the uncle who will help me keep my willful wife in line,” Robert quipped, laughing with everyone else as Carrie merely raised her eyebrows in disdain.
Janie was next as she sprang forward and wrapped Robert in a warm hug. “I’m so glad you’re home,” she cried and then pulled Clifford forward. “Meet my husband.”
