Lamb to the Slaughter

by Tony Masero

  ‘You like to play the part,’ he said, reseating himself. ‘Don’t forget though where we are and what you are, my dear.’ It was a cold warning presented in a tight whisper.

  ‘How could I ever,’ said Belle glancing around the uninviting small room, she was pleased to note that the damned dog had been removed to somewhere else.

  ‘We shall be waited on by one of the black prisoners,’ he said. ‘I have it that he was house slave to a man of some worth so hopefully he will know his business. I trust that will be satisfactory?’

  ‘I’m sure it shall,’ she answered politely.

  ‘We shall dine on meat and vegetables. There is soup, I believe and I’ve arranged some divertissement. The Negro boy, Sebastian, he shall come and trip and folly for us.’

  ‘How pleasant,’ Belle said coolly. ‘You have thought of everything, Captain. I am truly impressed.’

  ‘I am a rough soldiering fellow, ma’am. You must forgive me; I am unused to the presence of a lady. My duties occupy me at all times.’

  ‘You are not married then?’ she said with an overt show of subservience by lowering her head shyly. ‘Am I permitted to ask?’

  Meriwether’s lips crinkled, ‘You may, I suppose. Yes, I have a wife. A tiresome childless creature who displeases me constantly.’ He face had hardened and taken a stern line at the thought of this poor absent woman. ‘She is of a sickly constitution, full of vapors and a variety of ailments that keep her to her bed.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, it is hard indeed when a man does not find comfort in his home.’

  Brusquely, Meriwether crushed out his cheroot under his boot heel on the floor and got to his feet, reaching for a wine bottle on the desktop. He poured for both of them, a dense ruby wine that glowed ominously like blood in the light from the candles.

  ‘How is it you are so unhappy with the lady?’ Belle asked.

  ‘Oh,’ he shrugged. ‘Does it matter? There are differences between us; I was unwise in taking the woman on. The fault was mine own I suppose, perhaps I demand too much.’ He lifted his glass and drained it, pouring himself another quickly. ‘Some women do not understand a man’s needs.’ He looked at her from the corner of his eye as he said it, the implication being clear.

  Belle sipped her wine, making a show of drinking but intending to keep her head clear she only mimicked taking a draught.

  ‘When do we dine?’ she asked, her hungry thoughts at the prospect of a meal unwisely overtaking any desire for idle chatter.

  ‘In good time,’ he answered sharply, raising an eyebrow in slight reprimand. ‘I shall to get you know you better first.’

  The price I have to pay, Belle considered. To pander to his unpleasant fantasies for payment of a simple crust. Disgust me though he does, I must play this game if I am to get away from here. ‘There is not much to know,’ she said. ‘I am a woman of simple origins and have made my way as best I could in the world.’

  ‘Where do you hail from originally?’

  ‘From Tennessee. A mountain community in the Appalachians.’

  ‘A Southern girl then, that explains the accent. It must have been a hard life, I suppose?’

  ‘Dirt poor, sir. My folks were of a low order, I must admit to it. There was daily struggle to make our way, we had little in the way of niceties or proper education.’

  ‘Is that discontent what brought you into the world of espionage? This so-called struggle to survive?’

  ‘As I have said before, there is no case proven against me is such a field. I am wrongly charged and am surprised my husband had not made some move to obtain my release.’

  He breathed a low chuckle, ‘Your husband? The revered Colonel. I fear he is set-aside at present. It appears your escapades have brought him to the attention of the higher command and they are in no doubt that your nearness to all the details of his stewardship of our supplies have raised questions. It seems that Colonel Monette has lost his position as quartermaster and even now plans divorce proceedings against you.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ breathed Belle. ‘How unfortunate. I trust the poor Colonel will not think too badly of me for losing his position.’

  ‘Your name is bandied about throughout Richmond, my dear. Why, you have achieved some notable recognition, if the truth be told. News of your many clandestine, how shall I put it? Assignations, is that the word? Well, they are now common knowledge and your husband is something of a cuckolded laughing stock. Many officers have been brought up before a review board and questioned as to their bedroom conversations with you. The reviewers think of you as little more than a harlot, I’m afraid. A common hussy who would barter her virtue for any sly word of our efforts in the field.’ He said the last with an air of relish as if the collective sentencing by hearsay brought with it some approbation to his attitude as jailer.

  ‘Poor Courtney will not like that,’ Belle supplied calmly.

  ‘He does not. Indeed, he does not. As I say he has already made moves to set you aside as his wife. So you see, you shall receive no help from that quarter.’

  ‘It appears then, I am a woman alone, undefended and unprotected.’

  Meriwether poured himself another glass and swallowed quickly, watching her across the rim.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ he said. ‘How vulnerable you have become.’ There was a quickening in his voice, a slight slurring as the guzzled wine began to take effect.

  ‘Not so vulnerable,’ she said with a steely glance in his direction. Her magical blue eyes shifting color to a slate gray in the candlelight.

  He raised his chin in nervous distraction and looked away from the intensity of her gaze. ‘Do I detect a note of reproach?’ he asked.

  ‘A firmness only,’ she answered quickly. ‘I am not a woman to suffer fools gladly. I take strict umbrage at slur and will respond as only a weak woman can.’

  ‘And how should you do that?’ he asked, the breath coming fast through his nostrils.

  ‘Why? With a horsewhip, if I had one to hand. I should take the lash to any man who should consider himself an upstart in manners. What else could I do?’ She said the words hard as if the imaginary whip itself had cracked in the room.

  Meriwether bit his lower lip, his eyes flicking in agitation from side to side as he tried to contain himself.

  ‘You would bring such a man low, I suppose?’

  ‘Indeed, I should make him beg. To kneel and plead for forgiveness and would mete out a harsh punishment suitable for such a crime.’

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ rasped Meriwether under his breath. ‘Might we…. Perhaps, we could….’ Words failed him and Belle watched him shudder and twist at the desired concept that he so struggled to keep hidden. ‘You find me unforgivable?’ he asked, gathering himself again.

  ‘I do believe that if taken in hand by a strong personality you might reconsider your attitudes. A little chastisement would not go amiss. In such a manner as those of a deeply religious and monastic inclination might curb their unwarranted desires.’

  ‘And you would be willing to offer such a holy education?’

  ‘I must confess, Captain. I am known to be very strict in such matters and capable of good reprimand.’

  Meriwether drew a deep, ragged breath and paused to refill his glass, ‘Then let us dine and consider such things after we have eaten.’

  ‘A dessert worth waiting for,’ she said, her innuendo plain as she fixed him with a benign smile.

  Belle was thinking to herself that if this fool wanted a beating to relieve his dark motivations then she would have no difficulty in obliging him, anything to keep her close to an opportunity to escape. With the Captain as protector in the jail she could not only discover more avenues but also find the availability of opportunity greater. If the military command were now sure that she was a spy, as it seemed from what he had told her, then she faced certain death before a military tribunal who would offer her no more than a firing squad or a hangman’s noose. The sooner she got away the better and she prayed that Ki
rby was close by and ready to receive her once she made a break.

  The fare was poor when it arrived yet despite this the starving Belle found it hard to restrict herself from not gulping down the food as soon as it was laid before her. There was some accompanying bread and she gorged herself on it, only too glad to at least receive something to fill the emptiness inside.

  As they ate, there was the distant rumble outside as if a thunderstorm was approaching and Meriwether asked the Negro who waited on them if rain was imminent.

  ‘No, sir,’ said the Negro, a tall, frail looking white-headed older man. ‘That be guns you hear, Captain.’

  ‘Guns!’ started Meriwether, dropping his fork. ‘We are under attack?’

  ‘I think they is Yankee guns,’ the imprisoned slave supplied.

  Meriwether stood up quickly, upsetting his half empty wineglass and as he did so, there was a knock on the door and Qualms rushed in.

  ‘It’s the Federals, sir!’ he cried. ‘They’re making attack. They’ve landed at Fort Monroe and are headed in this direction.’

  ‘Hell and damnation!’ Meriwether cursed. ‘Call out the guard, Qualms. If word gets to the prisoners we may have an uprising on our hands. I want strict watch kept and brook no rebellion. I shall go and find out what is happening.’ He looked at Belle as if seeing her for the first time. ‘Take this one back to her cell,’ he said it abruptly, as all thoughts of any perverse pleasures faded fast from his mind.

  Belle was ushered roughly from the room and outside soldiers were already gathering in the narrow corridor. Qualms began shouting orders, his hand grasping Belle’s arm. The sergeant spotted the boy Sebastian, waiting to entertain the captain for their after-supper amusement.

  The boy had colorful ribbons tied to his legs below the knee and held a beribboned tambourine in his hand, the ever present monkey sat on his shoulder, a small feathered cap on its head.

  ‘You there, Sebastian!’ ordered Qualms. ‘Take this woman right back now, I ain’t got time to see to her.’

  ‘I ain’t supposed to,’ complained Sebastian. ‘Yo’ said it, Master Qualms. Don’t go near no prisoners, that’s what you said.’

  Qualms hit him a slap across the back of his head that startled the monkey into a teeth-baring yelp, ‘Do like I say and don’t give me no talk-back, you hear?’

  ‘Alright, alright,’ frowned Sebastian. ‘I’s going. Come along, missy.’

  Rattling his tambourine as he went, Sebastian led the way along the corridor passing the file of armed soldiers hurrying out into the street.

  ‘They all be going,’ Sebastian said to Belle over his shoulder with a grin. ‘See that? Look at them run, jist look at them run.’ He sung the words in time to the rattling beat of his tambourine. ‘Them boys in blue is coming here soon, Miss Belle. Glory days be coming here soon. He be coming here too,’ he added in a hushed voice.

  ‘Who is? You mean Kirby?’

  ‘Sho’ I do,’ smiled Sebastian conspiratorially. ‘He say, you be ready. He be coming.’

  ‘Where is he? Do you know where he is?’

  ‘Don’t know that, ma’am. But he is there, sure enough. He come to me when I is alone with nobody but me and old Pedro here. Give me a fine gold piece to come tell you.’

  Once again Belle’s heart thrilled at the news. It encouraged enormously her to know that help was close at hand and that she was not left alone trapped in the jailhouse.

  ‘Thank you, Sebastian,’ she breathed happily. ‘Thank you for that.’

  Chapter Nine

  Joe Bellows was climbing through mud; he had fallen into a sluggish, twenty-yard wide boggy stream and was up to his knees in the muck. Above his head artillery shells were passing over with thunderous roars and the battle sounds filled the air around him. Screams and cries of the wounded sounded loud and the repeated crack of rifle fire and heavy guns made the air quiver with a vibration that seemed to shake the earth. Around his knees Joe watched as rippling pools formed on the surface of the water following the crump and explosion of landing shells.

  Joe had been detailed off as a stretcher bearer with men of the Union’s reconnoitering Vermont regiment and it had not taken long before he and his accompanying convict fellow bearer were forced to advance with the army to a Confederate held mill situated on the boggy stream. His companion was a man named Obie Tallant, who although a thuggish man was not above a certain sly intelligence and when Joe had suggested they make a run for it over to the other side the convict had readily agreed.

  Ducking through a hail of bullets they had successfully picked up a soldier with a shattered leg. The wounded man lay demented and bellowing with pain at the dreadful wound, which had stripped one bloody leg down to the bone. Joe and Obie humped him dutifully downstream until they were out of sight of any other troops then they ignominiously dumped the sobbing man in a gully before shedding the stretcher and running off to cross the river.

  Above the bend in the river where they crossed unseen, lay the mill under siege. The river was dammed there and it was from the dam that the Confederate artillery kept up a pounding on the Vermont men. A battery of the Federal’s New York Artillery soon answered them and a cannon duel commenced ripping the air with the sound of shellfire.

  Although they did not know it Joe and Obie were crossing the Warwick River and entering the thin Confederate defense line that stretched across the entire peninsular to stand against the Union advance towards the town of Yorktown on the road to Richmond.

  The two men were not out of danger once they were safely across though and it was not easy to advance towards the Confederate lines through the constant cannon fire and air bursts. Joe had thought to lie up until later, hiding in a suitable place until the way was clear to see but the Union advance was coming up behind them on the riverbank and the two were forced to keep going.

  ‘Give me a hand, will you?’ he called up to Obie, who, being the stronger of the two, had climbed the opposite bank of the shallow river with relative ease.

  The brutish man reached down and caught Joe’s wrist. He pulled hard and Joe was free of the sucking mud and dragged up to lie alongside the other man.

  ‘How the hell we going to get out of this?’ asked Obie, who generally deferred to the wilier Joe. ‘We’re walking into hell here. Don’t know if we should have stayed where we was, them Union boys is coming on fast. Could be they’ll take these Rebs and then where will we be?’

  ‘Anywhere’s better than a Federal prison with a noose hanging over your head.’

  ‘’Cept maybe a Confederate one,’ observed Obie morosely.

  ‘We’ll buy our way in, I’ve got enough information about the Union force to make it worth their while to treat us well, don’t you worry.’

  ‘You sure are smart as a new pin, Joe. I never thought to look twice at all that stuff we was lugging aboard ship.’

  ‘Well, I got it down pat and it’s worth more than gold to them Rebs.’

  ‘All we have to do is get there in one piece then.’

  ‘That’s the plan,’ said Joe, working his way forward on all fours.

  ‘What? We got to do crawl the whole damned way?’

  ‘I don’t know, Obie,’ said Joe irritably. ‘You want to stand up and run, you go for it. But I tell you its raining lead up there and I ain’t about to chance it.’

  Below them on the river was a road bridge and they could see determined defenders in gray gathered around it with their rifles ready, upstream the battle continued at the mill and before them over more sludgy ground was the outline of dense woods.

  ‘What about the bridge?’ asked Obie. ‘We could surrender there.’

  ‘Not the way these boys are. They’re jumping for the mix, they’d soon as shoot us as we stand up, hands raised or not. No, I’m heading inland a piece where the troops ain’t so ready for blood.’

  ‘You aiming for the woods then?’

  ‘That’s it, Obie. I’m heading for the trees.’ He continued to crawl forward,
worming his way through the mud and dank pools of water that lay in his path.

  By noon they had reached the woods and as they did so the battle eased off, with Union troops settling down to hold the ground and bring up reinforcements. Covered in mud, the two men loped off through the cover of the trees. The wet clinging uniforms made their going unpleasant but both men felt a jubilant sense of liberation as they left the battle lines behind.

  They broke from the woods to find themselves above a busy road and Joe led the way down towards the stream of traffic where the Confederates were bringing up more troops to strengthen the line along the river.

  With hands raised high Joe and Obie walked towards the troops on the road.

  ‘Lookee here!’ called a Confederate soldier. ‘We got us a couple of Federal mud babies coming in.’

  ‘Will you look at that?’ laughed another. ‘They’re surrendering already. Looks like we got them on the run and I ain’t even fired a damned shot yet.’

  A corporal stepped forward, his face hard as he glanced at the two coming towards them. ‘You boys go fetch them in,’ he ordered. ‘Guess the officer’s will want a word with that sorry looking pair.’

  General Magruder was a fanciful man with a theatrical frame of mind. Mustached and wearing mutton-chop whiskers down to his jaw he struck an imposing figure as if he had just walked onto a stage. He was singing and shaving himself when they brought Joe and Obie into his headquarters tent. A good light tenor voice that he would interrupt occasionally as he swept another dash of lather from his cheek with the cutthroat razor and then waved the blade in a conductor’s cadence to the beat of his song.

  Wiping off the remaining foam he turned to his adjutant as the two men were brought in. His nose wrinkled at sight on the mud stained pair.

  ‘My God!’ he lisped, for despite his clear singing voice when it came to normal speech the general had a distinct lisp. ‘What on earth is this? Stand back you men; I’ll not have that filthy mud falling in my tent. Lieutenant, who are these men?’

  ‘Two deserters, sir. Just come over at Warwick River.’