Melora shook her head. “No, thank you, Rachel. I only have a few minutes.” She seemed a little upset—which was unusual for her, Rachel thought—but when she took an envelope out of her purse, saying, “I have a letter from Jeremiah,” both Rachel and her mother grew still.
“Is it bad news, Melora?” Amy asked quietly. “Is it Vince?”
“Oh no,” Melora said quickly. “It’s nothing like that. As a matter of fact, I came because when the messenger brought me the letter from Jeremiah, he had one for you, too. He was in a rush, so I offered to bring it to you.”
Amy took the letter, opened it, and began to read. “How is Jeremiah’s brother, Melora?” Rachel asked.
“Very sick, he says. I don’t think Jeremiah expects him to live. He says disease is terrible at Fort Donelson. Five of the men who went with him and Vince have died, and a dozen more are down with one illness or another—mostly malaria.”
“How did the letters come? We haven’t heard a word from Vince.”
“General Floyd sent a courier back asking President Davis for reinforcements. When Jeremiah heard about it, he asked the lieutenant to bring a letter for me; then he told Vince. From what he says, it’s not likely any mail will get back here again very soon.”
Amy said, “Let me read Vince’s letter to you. It’s not very long—:
Dear Mother and Father,
I write this in haste, for the courier is waiting right now. We made the journey to Tennessee with some difficulty. I was under the weather, but a new friend of mine named Jake Hardin nursed me along. When we arrived here, we were attached to the cavalry under General Nathan Bedford Forrest. He is a striking man indeed—a former slave trader and a wealthy man with no military training whatsoever. But he has, Jake says, a natural military genius. We have been on patrols constantly, fighting skirmishes with the Yankees every day. They are thick as fleas around Donelson! Sometimes I am so tired when we get back to the fort it’s all I can do to fall off my horse and get to my cot. But Jake always rousts me out and makes me eat.
Neither of us likes what we see here, nor do any of the men—or the officers, either. Fort Donelson is perched on the banks of the Cumberland River, and the Yankee gunboats, they say, are right up the river, ready to come and shell us. So there will be no escape by the river, and if the Yankees close in our front, we will be caught in a perfect trap—perfect for them, I mean.
Both Jake and I feel the battle will come soon, so I will not be able to write again. If I fall, remember these last days and try to forget and forgive the rest.
Rachel, thank you for your favor. I’ll try not to let you down.
Love,
Vince
Amy looked up to see tears in Rachel’s eyes. She asked gently, “What favor does he mean, Rachel? Taking care of him when he was injured?”
Rachel shook her head, then, dashing the tears from her eyes, whispered, “No, Mama. It was something else.”
The Tennessee River overflowed its banks, the swift current bringing down an immense quantity of heavy driftwood, lumber, fences, and large trees. As the serpentine line of General Nathan Bedford Forrest’s cavalry pulled up to the river’s muddy banks at noon on February 6, the entire troop had a clear view of the gunboats that were headed for Fort Henry. Downstream they could see the fort, and beyond the fort itself there seemed to be troops moving.
“Dismount!” General Forrest yelled, and the men all got off to rest their horses.
“Look at that!” Jake said in awe. “They’re going to squeeze those poor fellows in a vise!”
Vince was so tired he could hardly sit on his horse, but the sight of the flotilla of ships steaming toward the fort made him forget his fatigue. “Maybe the guns in Henry will do for those ships. Sure do hope so.”
They watched as four large gunboats—the Cincinnati, Carondolet, Essex, and St. Louis—formed a line abreast. The wooden gunboats formed another line abreast about one-half mile astern of the ironclads and fired over them. A roaring filled the air as the Cincinnati opened fire. The fleet edged closer to the fort, which seemed to be a blaze of fire, and the roar of the cannons was almost deafening. Soon the guns from Henry opened fire and made hits almost at once on the gunboats. Jake saw the ship with Essex on the bow struck so hard that she reared out of the water, then drifted helplessly downstream. Men were wildly throwing themselves into the swollen river, trying to escape the flames and destruction. It seemed a Confederate victory was coming. But it was not to be so.
The short-lived battle turned soon after it started, for, as was later revealed, Fort Henry was built too low on the water, and most of her best guns were flooded and totally useless.
“There’s the surrender,” Forrest muttered to his adjutant when a white flag was raised at the fort. “Let’s get back to Donelson. They’ll be coming our way pretty soon.” He swung to his horse, making an imposing figure. A big man, six feet and two inches tall and strong as a blacksmith, he exuded an air of leadership. He called out, “Mount up, men!” and drove his horse on a fast trot down the winding path that led to the river. As soon as they were on the Fort Donelson road, he stepped up the pace to a fast gallop. The distance was only twelve miles, but by the time the troop arrived, Vince was hanging on by sheer nerve.
Jake pulled up, took a quick look at Vince, then dismounted and grabbed the reins of Vince’s horse. “You go see about some grub,” he said. “I’ll take care of the horses.”
Vince slid wearily out of the saddle, giving Jake a wry look. “You don’t have to take care of me like you was my mama,” he said. “But I guess I’ll take you up on that deal.”
Jake watched as Vince plodded toward the fort, then unsaddled the horses, rubbed them down, and saw that they got their fair share of the forage from the soldier in charge. As he turned toward the fort, he was thinking of Vince. He’s come a long way. Didn’t think he’d make it here to Donelson, but he hung in there. He knew that without his help, Vince probably wouldn’t have made it, for he was still weak from his sickness and was not used to the hard life of a soldier. But they’d done it, Jake thought. They’d managed to join up under each other’s names and to carry off the masquerade successfully. It was almost a kind of game, responding to Vince’s name in public and using his own name when he and Vince were alone. It was a strain at times, but they had pulled it off. And no matter what happened now, Jake knew that Vince would never be the same. There was an element of pride in him now, and Jake could see that Vince was determined to go through whatever lay ahead of them.
He entered the fort, noting that all the guns pointed landward were in firing position. Glancing toward the side facing the Cumberland River, he saw the same condition applied there. Guess they know what’s coming, he thought, then made his way to the long, low building where he and the rest of the troop from Virginia were quartered. As he entered, he saw Vince talking to Jeremiah Irons and went at once to where they stood.
There was a hard set to Irons’s mouth, and when Jake looked at the chaplain inquiringly, he shook his head. “My brother’s no better. I don’t think he can make it for long.”
“What about taking him to a hospital?” Jake asked. He had grown fond of Irons, and of his brother, too.
“He’d never make the trip,” Irons said. “Anyway, we’re pretty well ringed in by Federals, I think. General Forrest offered to send a small squad, which was fine of him. But every man is needed here, and we couldn’t get through anyway.”
“When we give these Yankees a thrashing,” Vince said, “maybe we can rent a boat and get to the Mississippi.”
“Well, we’d run right into Grant if we tried that,” Jake said. “His command post is in Cairo. No Confederate ship can get past that spot.”
“That’s right, I’m afraid,” Irons said. He seemed low in spirits, which was not strange, since he had nursed his brother almost constantly since arriving at Donelson.
“Let me sit with him, Chaplain,” Jake said quickly. “I think we’ll get sent out
in the morning to screen the Yanks, but you need a little rest.”
Irons nodded wearily. “Maybe for a couple of hours. Thank you.”
He moved away, and Vince said, “You’ve got to be worn out yourself, Jake.”
“I’m okay. Let’s get a bite, then you rest. I’ll grab some sleep later.”
They each got a plate of beans and bacon and some coffee, then sat down to eat. “This General Forrest is a tough hairpin, isn’t he, Jake?” Vince said, chewing slowly. “And those men of his are hard as nails.”
“They’re a tough bunch, and that’s what we’ll need.” Jake swallowed a cup of scalding coffee, then added, “I was talking to Captain Wainwright this morning. He thinks we’re in a box. Told me that General Johnston ordered a first-class fort built here, but it was never done. Johnston found out at the last minute that there was practically nothing here and had some engineers throw up this fort along with Fort Henry. But they’re not much as forts go. Those big gunboats can pound them to pieces. And with the Yankees coming in Grant’s army, we’ve got no place to retreat.”
“Some of the officers say we ought to pull out now, while we can. Can’t say I’d object, but I guess we came to fight.”
Jake looked at Vince, a light of approval in his eyes. “If I forget to say this later, I’ve been proud of the way you’ve handled this. Your family will be proud, too.”
Vince colored and drank some coffee to cover his embarrassment. “Well, I’m coming to this a little late in my life, Jake, and I couldn’t have done it without you.” He ate slowly, then asked, “How’d you make it with my family? You’ve never really said. Was it hard to fool them?”
Jake didn’t like to speak of it, Vince saw, but he did say,
“God’s blessed you with a fine family, Vince. I envy you.”
“Well, you can come and see us after all this is over.”
“Not likely.” Jake hesitated, then went on. “Rachel told me never to come back again.”
Something in his tone—something wistful that wasn’t really like Jake—caused Vince to look up quickly. “Rachel said that? Well, she’s just sore right now.”
Jake rose to his feet, shaking his head. “I guess it’s more than that. I deceived her. She can’t ever forget that.” He turned away then, saying, “Better get some sleep,” and trudged off to the small room where Baxter Irons lay.
Jake’s conversation with Vince had depressed him, for it reminded him of Rachel’s hatred—and it was that which cut him more than anything else. He shook his head, trying to get her out of his mind, and found Irons with a higher fever than usual. He got some water and began sponging the wan face, and suddenly the sick man opened his eyes. “Jerry?” he whispered through chapped lips.
“No, it’s Vince. How do you feel, Bax?”
“Can’t complain.”
“You never do,” Jake said. He poured some water into a glass, and Irons drank a little of it.
“What’s going on out there?”
“Yankees took Fort Henry this afternoon.”
“That means they’ll be headed for here, don’t it?”
“Expect so, Bax, but we’ll hold them off.”
Irons shook his head weakly, his eyes sunk back into his skull. “I—tried to get Jerry to leave—but he won’t do it.”
“We’ll be all right.”
The sick man stared at him, then closed his eyes. He had an alarming habit of dropping off like this, and it was happening more often. Jake sat beside him, angered by his helplessness. Bax Irons was no more than twenty-three, and his life was over. Many others had died of sickness in this place, but Jake had taken Bax’s hand more than once, and he was the only one Jake had watched slip slowly away.
An hour later, Jake awoke when Bax said, “Vince—”
“Yes—you want something, Bax?”
Bax was burning up with fever, his eyes glazed with pain. “Vince, are you a man of God?”
Jake said slowly, “No, Bax, I’m not.”
“Too … bad! Wish you were …!” He labored for breath, then said with terrible effort, “I’m glad I … got that settled!” Then he whispered, “Vince … go get Jerry—”
Jake leaped up and ran full speed to where Irons slept. “Jeremiah, come quick!” he said, and Irons got to his feet at once. “I—I think he’s going!”
Irons left at a run, and Jake followed. He didn’t go close but let the two men have their moment together. It was dark, with only a few lanterns glowing in the long room, so he could barely see the outline of Jeremiah’s body leaning over the bed.
The time ran on, and Jake closed his eyes, but he was too aware of what was going on a few feet away to sleep. Finally he heard steps and opened his eyes to see Jeremiah Irons standing there, tears running down his cheeks.
“He’s gone?”
“Yes.” There was pain in Irons’s eyes, but his voice was even and his lips were relaxed. There was a peace about him, Jake saw with wonder, and he waited for the chaplain to speak. “He was longing to go, Vince,” Irons said softly. “He gave me some messages to pass on, and then he just slipped away.”
Jake blinked and bit his lips. “He was such a fine young fellow. I’m sorry, Jeremiah.”
“No, don’t be. ‘Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.’” Irons hesitated, then said, “He spoke of you, Vince.”
“He did?”
“Yes. He said to tell you that Jesus loves you.”
Tears burned at Jake’s eyes, and he couldn’t speak. Finally he got control and said, “That’s not easy for me to believe.”
“No, you think you’ve got to earn God’s favor. Most people do. But the New Testament denies that on almost every page. That’s what grace is. We can’t help God. Either the blood of Jesus is enough—or it isn’t.”
Jake said quietly, “Well, it was enough for Bax.”
Irons said, “It’s enough for you, too, my boy. It’s enough for all of us!”
CHAPTER 22
ESCAPE FROM FORT DONELSON
The funeral for Baxter Irons took place at sunset, just after Jake and Vince came in from a patrol. Exhausted, they all but fell off their horses and went at once to the sector outside the fort that had been set apart for the burial ground, finding two dozen or so men there, with Jeremiah Irons standing at the head of the grave. Irons looked up as they hurried to join the group, nodded at them, then began the service.
It was a brief service, consisting mostly of readings from the scriptures. Jeremiah Irons’s voice was clear on the cold air, and when he had read from the Bible, he closed it, then stood there looking down at the pine coffin. He spoke for a few moments about his brother, stressing that Baxter had put his trust in Jesus Christ, then nodded to the men beside the coffin. They picked up the ropes and lowered the coffin, then stepped aside. Irons picked up a handful of the red dirt, tossed it into the grave, then turned away. He stood there silently as the men filled the grave; then he walked away.
Jake and Vince fell into step with him, not certain of what they should say. Finally Jake said, “I guess you’ll be pulling out pretty soon.”
Irons shook his head. “Not for a while. We’ve got a lot of sick men—and lots of those who are well are pretty scared about the battle. I’ll stay for a few more days.”
Vince glanced in the direction of Fort Henry, saying, “You don’t have a lot of time, Jeremiah. We ran into Yankee pickets today. Grant’s headed this way for sure. Captain Wainwright says the generals think Commodore Foote will bring his gunboats up the river anytime.”
“I guess that’s right,” Irons agreed. “But we’ve had lots of reinforcements. Heiman’s troops from Fort Henry and the Second Kentucky under Bushrod Johnson. And General Buckner’s division.”
Jake offered, “I heard that the Yankee general Lew Wallace was on his way by river transport with his division—as many as ten thousand men. We’ve only got eighteen thousand men at most, so we’ll be facing at least three-to-one odds, and th
at’s not counting the fire from the ironclads.”
The three men spoke of the difficulties faced by the Southern forces, and it was Vince who said, “Well, we’ll just have to stand up to them, I guess. But I think you should leave now, Chaplain.”
But Irons refused to go, and for the next few days he found plenty to do, working with the sick and encouraging the fainthearted. He preached every night to large groups, and more often than not Jake and Vince were there to listen. Many men professed faith in Christ, and early one morning, a large number of them braved the cold waters of the Cumberland as Chaplain Irons baptized them.
Jake stood on the bank with Vince, silently watching, wondering at the sight. There was something impressive in the way the men lined up, dressed in their oldest clothes, waiting their turn. One of the candidates, a tall soldier from Arkansas named Opie Dennis, caught everyone’s attention. He stood quietly as Irons said, “Upon your profession of faith, I baptize you, my brother, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” He was so tall that Irons was forced to take a step back to lower him, and when he came up, he began to shout, “Glory to God! Glory to God!”
Vince whispered, “I guess Opie’s happy enough.” Then he turned to face Jake. “Kind of makes me wish I was in there, Jake. How about you?”
Jake said, “It makes a man think. I guess I hope my time will come. Your mother would be real happy if you found God—and Rachel, too.”
Vince said nothing, and after the service, they were called out by Captain Wainwright for a patrol. “General Forrest wants to find out what the Yankees are up to,” he said laconically. “Guess we know, but the other generals, Floyd and Pillow, are gettin’ nervous.”
General Forrest led a force of nearly one hundred men out on the patrol, and they rode through the bottoms for several miles. Jake saw the general suddenly throw up his hand, halting the line of troopers. Forrest was staring through the line of trees; following his glance, Jake saw the flash of the sun on metal. “There they come,” he murmured to Vince, who was on his left. “The show’s about to start.”
Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells Page 93
