Jewel of Promise

by Marian Wells

  “Roald, I know so little about life,” she said slowly. “Sometimes I have this desire just to grab on—anywhere, just so life won’t go off and leave me alone.”

  “Grab on; you’re not alone, Beth.” He pulled her into his arms and Beth touched his face as he kissed her.

  ****

  When the sun streamed through her window in the morning, Beth’s first thought was of Roald and his ardent kiss. Moving her shoulders uneasily, she questioned, “Why do I feel guilty?” But with a determined whisper, she added, “After all, I’m going to marry him someday.” Slowly she got out of bed, warming her feet on Sadie’s braided rug for a moment. Do you marry someone, she wondered, when you don’t even like their kisses?

  Chapter 21

  Mike dropped his duffel on the barracks floor. “So General Hallack is now commander of all the Union troops in this section of the country,” Mike mused. He sat down on the wooden bench and unlaced his muddy boots. “How come they didn’t make Grant commander?”

  “Guess he’s still on probation,” Deaver muttered. “Heard there’s talk about him drinking and so forth, but I sure haven’t heard anything about it personally. He’s always right there in battle.” Deaver scrutinized the red slash of fresh scar tissue on his arm.

  Tom sat up. “Naw, it’s just that he’s new at it all. Give him time. I’m putting my money on Grant, even if he’s a nobody right now.”

  The door at the end of the barracks opened, and a gust of wind-borne rain rushed in with the seaman who entered. He consulted the paper he pulled from under his jacket. “Deaver, Thompson, Jacks, Shultz, Maxey, and Rohner. Report to building seven at 9:00 A.M. sharp.” He paused. “Clancy, General Grant wants to see you in his office at six in the morning.”

  “What have you done now, Clancy?”

  Mike sighed. “Nothing. Just means they’re still short of pilots. There goes my trip home.”

  “Give me that pretty little gal’s name and I’ll drop in on her next week when I’m on leave,” Thompson leered.

  “If I had a pretty little gal, I’d heave my boot at you for the invitation,” Mike countered with a grin as he reached for the boot brush.

  “When are you and Duncan going to join up with the rest of us?”

  “Why join? We’ve been doing the job without being in the navy.”

  “Guess so’s you’ll get a pretty uniform like the rest of us and then leave,” Thompson retorted. “Duncan went home, didn’t he?”

  “I think so. His wife was with him. They’d planned on going down to Natchez, Mississippi, to visit her folks, but things are too hot down that way. Some are saying New Orleans has been harassed by Farragut.”

  “Bet the Rebs’ll hang that guy if they get their hands on him. He’s Southern. Not a good example of Southern loyalty, sticking to the Union like he has, and then giving it to New Orleans.”

  Deaver chuckled. “When they tried talking him into going against the Union, old Farragut told them the Confederates’ll catch the devil before they’re through with it all. Guess he’s going to see that they do! He’s been trying to take his boats into the Mississippi from the Gulf of Mexico for nearly a month now.”

  ****

  At six the next morning Mike walked into Grant’s office. The general raised his head and dropped his pen. “Morning, Mike. You can probably guess we didn’t get any naval pilots. Foote has a good share of the pilots and they’re pushing against Fort Columbus. If you will, help us out again. We’ve got two transports, two gunboats, and at least one dispatch boat going up the Tennessee.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a very big job.”

  Grant threw a quick look at Mike. “That’s just my personal contingent. Smith, McClernand, Wallace, Sherman, and Hurlbut will be joining us.” He straightened. “These divisions are following us from our supply depot.”

  “From your map the depot looks a fair piece downriver.”

  “It is, unfortunately, but it can’t be helped.” His grin twisted. “Taking eighty-two transports upriver is like blowing a bugle to announce our arrival. We’re ready to start our push to take Corinth, Mississippi.” Grant continued. “I want to be moving out tomorrow morning.” As he spoke he pushed a pencil across the map in front of him, touching the Tennessee and following the river south to Corinth. “I’m heading out first. General Buell and his men will be behind me a day or so. General Wallace will be coming in with the final group. In the field, we should have a force of around ninety thousand. Our plans are to move out from Pittsburgh Landing, twenty miles above Corinth, Mississippi.

  “When we reach there, I’ll lay over and wait for Sherman and Buell.” He paused, adding slowly, “The only thing that bothers me right now is the green divisions. Just plain raw recruits make up the divisions of both Sherman and Prentiss. Unfortunately, they’ll be the first to go in.”

  He got to his feet. “Here’s your boat assignment and instructions. You’ll have the Tyler. The other boat is the Lexington. See you in the morning.”

  ****

  At dawn the gunboats pulled away from the wharf at Cairo with the transports following. Before noon they turned up the Tennessee.

  Skipper Jones came into the pilothouse. “Well, Clancy, are you expecting the best on this trip?”

  “Aye, sir,” Mike said with a nod. “Seems people are beginning to look on us with favor, like family. Hope we get the same response at Corinth. Looks like we’re expecting a big battle.”

  “Don’t see how it can be avoided. Corinth is mighty important. It’s the crossroads of the Confederate’s main railroads. We get the railroads, and we’ve crippled them all along the Mississippi.” He paused. “I see you have instructions, but I need to add that both gunboats will be positioned just above Pittsburgh Landing. Grant’s troops will be west of the landing, and Wallace will be over here, near this little church, at a place called Shiloh. You need to know these positions in order to keep track of the action going on. Don’t want one of those eight-inch shells landing in the middle of our camp.” He gave Mike a friendly poke in the shoulder and left the cabin.

  By the end of the day, the transports had unloaded their men near Corinth and retreated downstream. Using the field glasses, Mike watched Grant’s men bedding down. The skipper came into the pilothouse and Mike lowered the glasses. “Jones, isn’t Grant going to entrench his men? They’re lined up like birds on a fence.”

  “No. Doesn’t want them too comfortable. They’ll be marching the twenty miles into Corinth as soon as Buell arrives, so it didn’t seem necessary to dig in for so short a time.”

  “Guess I shouldn’t be questioning,” Mike said slowly, “but is there any possibility the Rebs will come creeping up on our men?”

  The skipper chuckled. “I think we’re safe. They don’t know we’re in the area. Johnston’s so demoralized that he won’t be looking for trouble again soon. No chance of him popping into Tennessee now.”

  For the next two days, Mike listened to the sounds of camp and watched the river traffic. Buell still hadn’t arrived and the men appeared bored. They were even relaxed enough to pull in a good string of fish for their supper.

  On the following morning, Mike took his own restlessness to shore. The early sun had not yet burned off the river mists and the silent sleeping camps had lent encouragement to the foraging deer as well as the cranes and ducks. Mike had just settled himself on a log when he heard a horse. “Who’s there?” he called softly.

  The man turned his mount and rode toward him. “What are you doing here?” The soldier’s voice was tense.

  Mike glanced down at his dungarees. “I’m Clancy, pilot of the Tyler.” The fellow relaxed.

  “I’m Prentiss’ picket,” he spoke rapidly. “Reconnoitering. I’ve found troops moving this way. Think it’s Johnston.” He wheeled his horse and took to the trees.

  Mike jumped in the skiff and headed back to the Tyler. The engineer saw him coming. “Alert the other gunboat,” he muttered, heading for the skipper’s cabi
n.

  With the field glasses, Mike stood at the railing of the Tyler. For the next hour he scanned the shores of the Tennessee River. Standing with his back toward Shiloh church, he had begun to relax. But as he watched the terrain sloping toward Owl Creek, screaming Confederates burst out of the woods surrounding the church. Stunned by the Rebel yell, Mike spun around.

  Skipper Jones charged into the pilothouse. Reaching for the field glasses, he groaned and dropped them. “We’re too far away; we won’t reach them with the guns. We’ll have to let the army take the field until we can get the artillery in position. I’m going to send my men down to help with the guns we have unloaded. To think Buell’s headquartered at Nashville! We’ll never bring him up in time. The others better get here pretty soon, or we’re in trouble.”

  Throughout the day Jones stayed in the pilothouse, looking for an opportunity to move into position with his guns. Mike watched him periodically drop the binoculars and pace. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “How can that many men sneak up on an army? And look at them! They’ve thrown every man into the battle at once.”

  At noon, Mike had the binoculars. He watched the ranks break and exclaimed, “Oh, no! Skip, look at this.”

  Jones looked. “The green ranks are fading out of the picture.” He swore and thrust the binoculars toward Mike. “Only good thing is that half of those men are dressed in gray.”

  Mike held the field glasses on the bluff lining the edge of the Tennessee. “Poor young’uns! I can see the terror on their faces even from here.” Mike shook his head. “It’s a shame, sending them into a battle this fierce.”

  “We gotta do it, Mike. We get this far and there’s no turning back.”

  Later they watched General Prentiss march his troops out along a sunken road leading toward the creek. “Those lads have guts—that’s a bad position,” Jones muttered. “Go to it, boys. We’re rooting for you.”

  “Those boys are going to be slaughtered,” Mike said. “Even from here, it’s evident they’re outnumbered. Why aren’t Buell and Wallace here?”

  Jones shook his head. Mike paced the deck and watched the shoreline. “It’s bad. They’re dropping like flies.”

  Just as the sun slipped behind the trees, Jones exclaimed, “Now’s our chance. Mike! The Rebels are moving into position. Take the boat in as close as you can. They’re sitting ducks!”

  ****

  When the roar of their guns finally ceased, Jones came upstairs. Mike turned from the wheel. “Shall I take it midstream?”

  “No, let’s keep this position; we’re not plugging the main channel.”

  “Good job,” Mike said. “You forced them to withdraw from the field.”

  Jones gave a tired sigh. “The Confederates are still pounding that lane with field guns. There’s no way Prentiss can take it. Looks like he’s surrendering,” he added. “There aren’t many lads still on their feet. At least—” He dropped the binoculars and pointed to the ridge. “They gave Grant time to line that ridge with his men.”

  Mike took a look. “Is that General Beauregard?” Jones nodded. “Looks like he’s pulling out,” Mike said. “Strange; I didn’t expect that. There’s still daylight left.”

  “I’ve been watching them for the past hour. Looks to me like those fellows are about as low as a fighter can get and still stay on his feet. For us, maybe it isn’t as hopeless as it seemed. I expect Buell to be on the field in the morning.”

  Mike checked through the binoculars again. “Ah, I see! No wonder they quit. Those Rebs have a ravine at their back.” Slowly he added, “Skipper, if you don’t think we’ll need to move this boat tonight, I’ll go down and lend a hand. Things look pretty bad.”

  “I’ll send my men down there too,” Jones muttered, heading for the stairs.

  Mike reported to the grim-faced team on the river bank. An officer came to him. “We’ve got one doctor. Get a helper and a stretcher. Try to give them water if they’re conscious. Be careful, or you’ll be stepping all over the wounded.”

  “Name’s Art,” the youth beside him muttered. They started out at a trot. But when they reached the battlefield, they both stopped. “Lord, have mercy,” Art muttered. “Look at ’em. Blood boot deep, and—” he stopped gulped.

  Mike continued to stare down at the mangled bodies, tortured faces. “Those field guns blew them apart. Just boys.”

  “The most horrible part is that they can look like that and still move.”

  Art’s teeth were chattering, and Mike straightened up. He took a deep breath. “Art, we’ve got to get out there. Come on, buddy.”

  “Help, please help me!” A piteous voice called, nearly under their feet. “Water?” The man’s arm was gone, and Mike hesitated, wondering how they would lift him.

  “Sure, buddy, here’s water.” Art knelt and lifted the man’s head. He hesitated, then looked up at Mike. “Guess he won’t need this water.” His voice was choked with tears.

  Mike had made two trips carrying the wounded from the battlefield when Grant came onto the field. With his officers clustered around, Mike watched the man’s face sag in disbelief and sorrow. “We’ve got to get the living out of here as fast as possible. Bring up the transports.”

  “Are we retreating, General?”

  “Retreat?” Grant rounded on the officer who had said the word. With a steely-eyed frown, he stressed the words, “I don’t intend to retreat. I’ll be on the field at daybreak tomorrow, and we’re going to whip them.”

  Mike looked down at his blood-stained hands and clothing. “God bless you, General,” he muttered toward the slouched form moving among the injured. “You’re going to need every bit of blessing you can get.”

  Until well after dark, Mike continued to fumble his way through the field. The moon was rising when a soldier stopped him. “You Mike Clancy? Grant wants to see you; he’s over there.”

  General Grant turned as Mike approached. “Mike, I’ve just been told Buell is across the river. Take the Tyler and start ferrying them across. We can’t spare the other boats; we’re moving the injured into them as fast as we can.”

  Mike headed for the boat just as it began to rain. He lifted his face to watch the heavy clouds swirling across the moon and shook his head. “God, bless the men out there; it’s a horrible night to be out in this cold rain.” For a moment he hesitated. Thinking of the wounded and the rain, bitterness welled up inside of him. Carefully he bit back the agony of all the “whys” he wanted to shout heavenward. Turning his back on the bloody field, he doggedly set his feet in motion.

  ****

  Olivia stepped out the front door and watched as a man climbed out of a wagon, shouldered a bag, and turned. “Mike!” she gasped, staring into the pale, unsmiling face. “Oh, my dear! What has happened?”

  Alex came down the steps as Mike said, “Nothing—at least nothing more than has happened to all the others.”

  Alex looked him in the eye and took the bag from his shoulder. “Welcome home, Mike. It’s good to have you back.”

  Sadie rushed out the door, wiping her hands on her apron. “My boy—oh, Mike! Come in right now and let me take care of thee.”

  When Amos and Beth came into the house, the group was still sitting at the table with Mike. The rhubarb pie was untouched, but the coffee cups were empty.

  Amos shook Mike’s hand while Beth lingered in the doorway. With her eyes wide in her pale face, she whispered, “Mike, you are so thin. Your face—”

  He avoided looking at her as he made room for her at the table. Amos asked, “Hast thou been on those gunboats all this time?”

  “Yes, sir.” He glanced at Alex. “After you left I helped out at Columbus. I was ready to take leave when Grant asked me to go up the river again. We were headed down to Corinth, Mississippi. Johnston and Beauregard met us at Pittsburgh Landing, about twenty miles out of Corinth. We had quite a battle.”

  “We read about it in the papers,” Alex said. He squinted at Mike. “Pretty bad? A day
and a half of fighting and twenty thousand killed and wounded. I pray the dear Lord nothing like that happens again.”

  “Alex, don’t kid yourself,” Mike interrupted roughly. “We were saying the same thing until Grant changed our tune. I guess he’s the only one with the nerve to lay it to us straight.” Mike stared down at his coffee cup for a moment before adding, “Grant admitted that before this encounter, he’d predicted one more battle and the rebellion would be over. Now he’s admitting he’s given up all idea of an easy victory, saying there’s no way the Union can be saved except by a complete conquest. Shiloh is just the beginning battle of all out war. We’ll fight until there’s no one left to fight.”

  He got up from the table, stumbling as he walked to his bag. “Mind if I just go up and sleep? I haven’t had much lately. As good as Sadie’s cooking is, I need sleep worse.”

  As he moved past Beth, she stretched her hand toward him and then hastily pulled it back.

  The group around the table listened to Mike’s unsteady footsteps on the stairs. Beth whispered, “Roald—will he be like that?”

  Olivia looked at Alex but he avoided her eyes.

  “It isn’t right,” Amos said, “this lifting a gun against another human being.”

  His voice heavy, Alex asked, “But is it possible to reverse, to go back the way we came, to allow slavery and say it is not a worse evil than to pursue the course set before us now?”

  “One innocent man killing another?” Amos asked.

  “Or one powerless black man being killed through oppression? I think it is impossible to answer for them.”

  Olivia caught his eye. “Haven’t the slaves given the answer? They’ve risked their lives for freedom. Some of them didn’t make it. Oh, Alex, I hate war, but what choice do we have beyond being true to our inmost being, and to God?”

  “That’s the part bothering me,” he said slowly as he got to his feet and left the room.