by John Wilson
“Remember the day they hanged Mosby twice?” Billy asks with a smile.
I nod.
“Them five other Raiders swinging there, kicking air, and Mosby in a pile on the ground, cursing and rubbing his neck.” We both laugh at the memory.
“Mosby’s mistake was that he got too big,” I say. “Thought he could control the whole camp. Your idea to keep a low profile and not upset too many people was much better.”
“It was too, and we managed that pretty well, didn’t we, Jake?”
“We did,” I say.
We sit in a nostalgic silence. But gradually the cost of us living well worms its way into my mind. I’ve always tried to ignore the things Billy has done to help us survive, but I’m sure some of the crosses on the hillside are there because of Billy, and me. The old crazy man when we got our first shelter after the Raiders were defeated, whoever owned that shiny quarter that bought us the vegetables the day the parole was announced. And how many others died because they lacked that blanket or piece of food that Billy stole? Billy did the killing, but those deaths are on my head just as surely as if I had wielded the knife myself. I tell myself that we did what we had to do to survive, we had no choice, but is there a price that’s too high to pay, even for survival?
“For a while we lived pretty good,” Billy says almost wistfully.
“We did,” I agree, “but do you reckon it was worth what we did?”
“What do you mean?” Billy asks. “’Course it was worth it. We’re alive, ain’t we? Surviving, that’s what’s important. You said as much yourself.”
“I know. Don’t listen to me. I’m just moaning.” Suddenly I’m too tired to talk about the cost anymore. I just want to get home and forget. We lapse into silence.
“What d’you reckon’ll happen next?” Billy asks eventually.
“Well, the war’s over and we’re not prisoners anymore, but we’re still soldiers. I reckon they’ll feed us up a bit, take us down to either Savannah or Vicksburg, discharge us and put us on a ship up the coast or a riverboat up the Mississippi.”
Billy nods. “I like the feeding idea. And the riverboat. Ain’t never bin on one of them. Then what?”
“Home,” I say.
Billy falls silent. I immediately regret mentioning home after what he told me about Andersonville being the only home he’s ever had. I want to say something, reassure him, but what can I say? Over the months, Billy and I have become close. We’ve helped each other out and each of us is probably the main reason the other is still alive, but we are very different. I trust Billy more now, but that is only because his fate is tied to mine. And because we both know about the things we’ve done to survive that we would rather no one else knew about.
I suppose the main difference between Billy and me is that I feel sorry for the poor soldiers we robbed, although that didn’t make me stop stealing or prevent Billy. I lay awake at night; Billy slept like a baby. No nightmares about sticking his knife under Nathaniel’s ribs kept him awake.
Does feeling badly about what we have done to survive make me a better person than Billy? I don’t know.
I lie back on the grass and close my eyes. The sun is warm on my face. Soon, Billy and I will go our separate ways and I can begin to forget.
EIGHTEEN
“Look at this, boys. Sherman sure didn’t leave much of Atlanta for those Rebs.”
We crowd the train carriage windows and look out on the blackened ruins of the city that General Sherman burned before he set off on his march to Savannah and the sea. Stone chimneys, cracked walls and churches are about all that still stand above the rubble. Roads have been cleared and new tracks have been laid for the train. There are soldiers, cavalry and military wagons everywhere. It’s the morning of April 16, and we’re on our way home.
“Serves them right,” Billy says. “They started this damned war.” Grunts of agreement pass around the carriage. “Where do we go from here?”
“If we go east, it’s Savannah. If we go west, it’s Vicksburg.”
We all look out the windows at the devastation as the train crawls along. Gradually we swing around until we are heading away from the morning sun.
“Looks like Vicksburg,” I say to Billy. “You’ll get your chance to go on a riverboat.”
We slow to a walking pace as we pass a Union camp. Tents stretch as far as the eye can see, and huge piles of supplies, ammunition and guns are everywhere.
I still haven’t got used to how healthy everyone looks compared to us or the Andersonville guards.
“How did the South think they could beat us?” I ask to no one in particular as we gaze at the wealth and power spread out before us.
But something’s wrong. Soldiers are standing around in small groups, talking instead of going about their chores. There’s a sense of agitation over everything.
“Ain’t right.” Billy’s noticed it too. He pulls a window down and leans out.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asks the closest group of men.
“Lincoln’s been shot,” one of the men shouts back. “Just come over the telegraph.”
“Shot?” Billy asks.
“Shot dead,” the man replies. “At a play up in Washington, night afore last.”
The men in the carriage are silent. This is a shock. Lincoln was the symbol of the Union.
“Who done it?” a man at the back of the carriage shouts.
Billy passes on the question, but we’re too far away to hear the answer.
“Some Southerner, I reckon,” someone else says.
The rest of the journey is spent in alternating spells of thoughtful silence and wild speculation. Lincoln has become a symbol of the Union and, now, of our victory. Does his death mean that the South will rise up again? Probably not, they are too well beaten, but it’s not my concern. I want to go home and not ever think about politics or war again.
At dusk we arrive at a large camp outside Vicksburg. As we get down from the train, I notice that the flags in front of the officer’s quarters are flying at half-mast. We are divided into squads and assigned tents.
The place is called Camp Fisk, and the inhabitants are from prison camps all over the South. All have the gaunt, starved look of those of us from Andersonville, but there’s a world of difference. Here everyone has a good tent, new clothes, and plenty of firewood and food. There’s even a large clean hospital tent without mass graves behind it.
Billy and I are sitting by a roaring fire outside our tent with full bellies and sipping on the first coffee we have tasted in months. I can hardly believe how many fires there are around the camp and how big they all are. At Andersonville we fought for and treasured sticks the thickness of a finger. Here anyone can casually throw a log as thick as a leg on and watch it burn in a few minutes.
“Jake. Billy.” I look up to see a figure coming toward us through the flickering light. He’s walking strangely, stiff-legged and with small steps.
“I seen you come in this evening,” the stranger says. “Thought I’d give you a chance to settle afore I come over and say howdy.”
I stare at the man. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him. He’s well-fed and clean shaven.
“You boys don’t recognize me.” The man laughs. “It’s Sam from the Raiders.”
“Sam!” Billy jumps to his feet. “How in the hell are you?”
“I can’t complain, Billy.”
“You can walk,” I say, looking at his feet with a shudder.
“Sure can,” Sam says. “It took a while to learn to balance after I left them toes back in Andersonville, but I’m mighty obliged to you, Jake. I’d be dead for sure if you hadn’t helped me out.”
“Sit down,” Billy says. “Have a cup of coffee. It ain’t as good as some I can remember, but it’s better than swamp water.”
We sit and reminisce.
“You were right about the parole,” Sam says. “Wirz was lying through his teeth, as usual. We were taken to Savannah as promised,
but there were no ships waiting for us. We were moved around quite a bit, especially when Sherman began his march to the sea. Eventually, they moved us to a stockade at a place called Florence. It was a small copy of Andersonville, but at least we had clean water and the guards weren’t too cruel, though it seemed like every week there was less food and men were dying regular of scurvy and the fever. I was lucky. Because of my feet, I got a job as orderly to the camp commander. I managed to sneak a bit of extra food and got to sleep out of the rain in the back of the store shed.”
I think that, judging from Sam’s plump cheeks, he has managed to sneak a lot of extra food.
“We kept hearing stories from new prisoners and slaves about how the Confederacy was going to hell. At the beginning of March, we were loaded onto a train and taken to Wilmington, where we were handed over to our own boys.
“Those were good days,” Sam says wistfully. “Seems like we had roast chicken and potatoes for near every meal. Then they shipped us over here.”
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
Sam concentrated for a minute. “Near enough to six weeks, I reckon.”
“Six weeks!” Billy sounds horrified. “I ain’t stayin’ here fer six weeks. Where are the riverboats?”
“They’re in Vicksburg all right, and a lot of the boys have gone home, but they don’t run the boats special for us. Whatever’s coming north on the river is loaded up.”
“How do you get on one?” Billy asks.
“Well,” Sam says, “system is the riverboat captains get paid five government dollars a head for every man they take north.”
“That’s good money,” Billy comments.
“Sure is, but the captains don’t get it all. Major Heath—he’s in charge of the shipments—gets his cut. And, you might say, the Major’s open to persuasion. It’s no coincidence that the folks with a little something stashed away were on the first boats. Now, those of us left got nothing to persuade with, so Heath ain’t in a hurry. I think he and the quartermaster got a deal to skim off the rations for this place and sell it to any Southerners with any valuables left.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say indignantly. “For months we were beaten and mistreated by the enemy and now the same thing’s happening with men on our side.”
Sam shrugged. “Won’t be more than a few days now anyway. Can’t be more than a few thousand of us left here, and the river’s busy now that spring’s arrived. Just sit back and get your strength back.”
NINETEEN
I’m doing exactly what Sam suggested, but it’s harsh being stuck in limbo. Men are beginning to waste what energy they have on pointless arguments, and fights break out somewhere in the camp every day.
It’s been a week and there’s still as many men here at Fisk as when Billy and I arrived. We’ve watched trainloads of men arrive, be processed and be on a riverboat in two or three days while we stay and rot. We’re not rotting physically like some did in Andersonville. There’s two meals a day, toilets you can barely smell and no stockade wall to stop you taking a stroll if you have the strength and the spirit moves you. Billy’s taken to excusing himself from camp for long periods of time. It’s not strictly allowed, but no one cares too much. Last night, Billy didn’t return to camp at all and I had to cover for him at roll call. I assume he’s out enjoying the pleasures of Vicksburg.
“Come on, Jake, let’s go.”
“Where?” I look up to see Billy and Sam standing over me. Billy’s carrying a small sack in his left hand.
“Vicksburg, of course. Sam and me, we’re gettin’ us out of this place.”
Billy looks almost human again and his old cockiness is back. He is still skinny but, like all of us, he has benefited mightily from his time here. The weakest and sickest have died or are in hospitals in town, so the two thousand or so of us left here are relatively fit and eager to move on.
I suppose my mother would be shocked if she could see me now, but I am a different person from a month ago. I’m still weak and have trouble walking any great distance, but I have enough flesh on my bones not to rub my joints raw on my coarse uniform as I move.
“How do you plan to get us out?”
“I ain’t been sittin’ around wastin’ my time. I been in town workin’.” Billy smiles slyly. “There’s a big riverboat at the dock, big enough to take at least half the men here up the river to Cairo. I bin talkin’ to the captain.”
“Why does he listen to you?” I ask. “You’re not even an officer.”
Billy winks broadly. “I got my ways, Jake, boy. Now, come on. I got us a ride into town on a supply wagon, and we got to see Major Heath afore it leaves.”
Billy leads the way through camp toward the supply shed. Sam and I follow behind, me wondering what business Billy has cooked up with Heath, and Sam moving as best he can with his awkward gait. There’s an officer standing outside the door, supervising some soldiers offloading flour sacks from a wagon. Billy approaches the officer and salutes smartly.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Major Heath, sir,” Billy says. “I got those items we was discussin’.”
Heath looks at us like we’re something unpleasant he’s just stepped on. “Who are these?”
“My partners, sir,” Billy says. “I can vouch fer them, sir. Good lads, both.”
“Very well. Come on.” Heath leads us round the side of the building. I instinctively don’t like the man. He has the same arrogant superiority that Wirz had, and I feel he would get rid of anyone who got in his way without losing a moment’s sleep.
“Let’s see then,” Heath says when we are out of sight.
Billy unties the neck of the bag and tips the contents out onto the ground. We all crouch down to look.
It’s a collection of valuables—silver coins, some grubby banknotes, two pocket watches and, glittering on the top of the pile, a diamond necklace.
Heath picks up the necklace and examines it closely. “Nice,” he says. “Where’d you say you got this stuff?”
“Donations from the boys in camp that wants a place on the riverboat.”
“And one of them boys just happened to have a diamond necklace in his pocket?”
Billy shrugs and Sam grins.
“Well, no matter.” Heath scoops the valuables back into the bag and stands. “I’ll not ask too many questions. You and your partners and whoever else you persuaded to part with their valuables have places on the riverboat. Go and see Mason and tell him the trains will be coming this afternoon and to be ready to sail tonight with a full load. I’ll follow you into town.”
Heath strides off toward the officer’s quarters. Sam and I follow Billy back to the now empty supply wagon and climb onto the back.
It’s four miles into Vicksburg along a bumpy wagon road, but I don’t notice the discomfort. I’m preoccupied with thoughts of where Billy got that bag of valuables. I can easily imagine him and Sam going round the camp collecting money and the watches in exchange for a place on the riverboat, although I’m surprised at the quality of the pickings. What I don’t understand is where the necklace came from. That’s not the sort of keepsake a soldier would carry.
“Who’d you get the necklace from?” I ask.
“You’d be surprised what some folks carry,” Billy responds. He and Sam laugh.
“It looked valuable.”
“Don’t you worry, Jake. I ain’t fool enough to give Heath everythin’ I got. There’s plenty more stashed away fer a rainy day.”
“It just doesn’t seem like something you could get from a soldier.”
Billy stares hard at me. “We ain’t in Andersonville no more. The rules is different in the real world. Now, let’s just say I come upon that necklace and saw the chance to dazzle Heath with it.
“Besides, Jake, boy”—Billy smiles at me—“that necklace is payin’ fer your place on that riverboat. It’s your ticket home, and ain’t that where you want to go?”
I nod and we ride the rest of the way in silence. Nothing h
as changed. Billy, now with Sam in tow, is up to his old ways, and I am benefiting from it. I have two choices: challenge Billy and stay in Camp Fisk, or push my suspicions to the back of my mind and start the journey home tonight. As usual, I keep silent.
TWENTY
The Mississippi is swollen with spring runoff and rolls past in a powerful brown surge on its way to New Orleans. River traffic is heavy in both directions, and the docks are full of all kinds of craft loading and unloading. Billy leads us straight to the largest vessel I have ever seen.
The riverboat is 260 feet long and her four decks rise to the height of a tall building. Two black smokestacks tower above that, and her huge side paddle wheels carry her name in letters taller than a man—Sultana. The red of her hull and the white of her decking are faded and rust-spotted from hard wartime service on the river, but she’s still a magnificent sight.
“Don’t gawk, Jake.” Billy slaps me on the shoulder. “Your jaw’s hanging open like a country bumpkin on his first visit to the city.”
“She’s beautiful,” I stammer.
“Ain’t she just. Built in St. Louis but two years ago. She’s the pride of the river.”
“What are those men doing?” I notice gangs of workmen hammering beams into place between the decks.
“Reinforcing her decks,” Billy explains. “The Sultana’s goin’ to be carryin’ a lot of our boys home.”
I want to ask Billy why the decks need to be reinforced on such a new vessel, but I don’t get the chance. Billy and Sam are heading over to the gangway, where a well-dressed short man with a neatly trimmed chin beard is standing.
“Who’s this?” The man asks, staring at me with two of the most piercing blue eyes I have ever seen.
“This is my partner, Jake Clay,” Billy says with a smile. “Jake, meet Captain J. Cass Mason, the man who holds the steamboat record for the fastest trip from New Orleans to St. Louis.”
Mason relaxes at the compliment. “Where’s Heath?” he asks.
“He’ll be here,” Billy reassures him.
