Jewel of Promise

by Marian Wells

  “I would, too.” Crystal brushed the hair away from Olivia’s face. “I’m afraid that’s how it’s going to be for all of us. Waiting. I’m glad you’ll be having the baby. That will help make time pass quickly.

  “Oh, this terrible war.” She sighed and looked at Olivia, who sniffled and nodded half-heartedly. “In Colorado it seemed frightening enough; but here, with soldiers talking about battles and women looking for information from the battlefields, it is horrible. Even reading the newspaper accounts is frightening. It is so near! That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Matthew’s nearly promised I can go with him. He said for a month or so we’ll be together, and then I’ll go on to New Orleans.

  “I’ve been thinking about the baby coming, but also about you. Olivia, would you rather I stay with you now, or come back just before the baby is born?”

  “Crystal, I think I’d like you to be here when he comes. I’d love to have you stay now, but I understand. You were both separated for such a long time; I wish for both your sakes that Matthew didn’t feel obligated to join the army so soon.” She sat up and smiled at Crystal. “Your going with him sounds like a good idea. I understand there are many women joining their husbands, following their men from camp to camp, just to be near and help take care of them.

  “If it hadn’t been for the baby, I would have insisted on going with Alex.” She tried to smile. “He’s pretty self-sufficient; I imagine he can even manage to keep his socks clean.”

  She caught her breath in a ragged sob. “I’m sorry, Crystal. Sadie says pregnant women are tearful and moody, but it makes me ashamed. I do all this preaching at myself about being strong and trusting in the Lord, but sometimes it doesn’t help.”

  Crystal fingered the brooch pinned to Olivia’s dress. “This is a lovely piece of jewelry.”

  “Alex gave it to me just before we left Canada. Both of us see it as a symbol of the times in which we live. Alex read me some verses in Isaiah. He said that he thought of them when he first saw the brooch.”

  “Tell me the verses; what do they say?”

  “That just as a bride is adorned with jewels, in that same way the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations. Alex said the brooch signifies the way Christians are to shine against the darkness of this terrible war.” She gulped, touched the gold filigree, and added, “I don’t think I’m doing much shining right now. But I’m praying constantly. No matter what happens, Crystal, even if he’s injured and we lose the war, I’ll be happy if only he comes back.”

  Chapter 27

  “Private Duncan, report to your division commander immediately.”

  Alex glanced down at the stockings floating in the basin of water. “Yes, sir, just as soon as I hang up my stockings, otherwise I’ll be going barefoot like the Confederate soldiers.”

  The lieutenant grinned and walked away.

  The private leaning against the pine tree shifted his back and looked at Alex. “Duncan, only a hulking smart mouth with a Southern accent could get by with that.”

  “Washing stockings?”

  “No, explaining so’s it looks like it isn’t important to be in a hurry around here.”

  “Since I joined McClellan’s army, I haven’t seen anyone here in much of a hurry. Guess the lieutenant agreed, since he didn’t object.” He turned to look at the pleasant countryside. Their camp was spread along the banks of the Potomac, within sight of Harper’s Ferry. “Nearly nice enough for a picnic,” Alex said, grinning at the youth as he rinsed his stockings and draped them on one of the currant bushes surrounding their camp. He studied the effect of the black against the autumn red leaves. “Mighty nice effect, don’t you think?”

  “Whole place is mighty nice if we were doing something besides fighting a war—trying to fight, that is,” he added, looking at the horses chomping the lush grass along the river. As Alex walked toward the commander’s tent, he studied the scudding clouds weighted with moisture and moving in from the Atlantic. Sighing with regret, he decided this mid-October day seemed to signal the end of autumn.

  He headed for the largest tent. “Lieutenant Jacobs,” Alex saluted. Jacobs touched his cap.

  “Duncan, be seated, breaks my neck looking up at you.” Jacob’s sardonic grin held as he leafed through the papers in front of him. “I need someone to carry a dispatch into Washington, thought you’d enjoy getting out of camp for a day or so.”

  “Yes, sir. Telegraph down again?”

  “No. What I say’ll take all night to transmit. Help yourself to the coffee and sit down.”

  The man continued to write quickly. Alex studied his grim face and went to the fire for coffee.

  When he sat down, Jacobs dropped his pencil and looked up. “Give it to me straight. What’s your impression of this regiment?”

  Alex chewed his lip. “I haven’t been here long enough to be qualified to judge. But it seems we’re not getting anywhere, or doing anything. I’d almost rather be digging ditches.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Jacobs said with a smile. “No, honestly now.”

  “Sir, I’ve been in the army since the last week in September. I came in expecting to be handed a musket and told to go to it. That hasn’t happened. I’ve been sent on a few little jaunts with a piece of paper in my hand, and told to size up the road I traveled. Might be this is the way wars are run, I don’t know, but I can sure think of things I’d rather be doing. My wife is going to be having a baby next March, I’d like to see this whole situation cleared up by then.”

  “Congratulations,” Jacobs grinned, “but your wife and nearly every other soldier’s wife is in the same situation. You a farmer?”

  Alex shook his head, “Going back to the question. I’d read some pretty sour statements about McClellan in the newspapers. From President Lincoln on down there seems to be considerable irritation with his leadership. But here in camp I see the fellows nearly idolize him.”

  “Why do you suppose that is so?”

  “To tell the truth, I honestly don’t know. But in addition, I’m sensing an underlying discontent with the whole war effort.”

  “They’re bored with it all,” the young lieutenant said. Tenting his fingers, he stared down at the paper in front of him.

  Reluctantly, yet feeling the need to be honest with the man, Alex added, “Sir, when a bunch of fellows give up on bragging about what they did in the last battle and start questioning the right or wrong of the whole war effort, I think there’s serious trouble.”

  “What do you mean? The North has never had the wild enthusiasm for fighting that we’ve seen in the Confederate army.”

  “I wasn’t here when the battle of Antietam was fought,” Alex said, “but it’s been brought to my attention several times that the fellows feel absolutely nothing was accomplished by the battle. They said both the Confederate and the Federal forces are holding the same positions held before the fighting began. Sir, these fellows are saddened by the loss of life which seems unnecessary to them. Back home I saw nearly the same reaction. Six thousand men killed, seventeen thousand injured, and nothing gained. Even the Quaker farmers in rural Pennsylvania were pretty upset about the loss, and it usually takes a lot to make them speak out against authority.

  “While we were gathered around the reports of the dead and wounded, we tried to add up the merits of the battle and there didn’t seem to be any. Particularly when it became known that McClellan finished the battle by refusing to track down Lee. It was even more upsetting when the final count showed the remaining Federal force was twice the size of Lee’s, and his fellows were exhausted and sick.”

  Finally Jacobs spoke, “If it will help, there’s something good coming out of it all. News coming out of Great Britain indicates that Antietam sealed the question of whether Britain should support the South’s bid for recognition as an independent nation. They have closed the door on it.”

  “Well, that’s certainly encouraging. I know the battle was considered a draw,
but perhaps the British read something else into it.” Alex added slowly, “Something else I didn’t realize is that some of the men are tired of the war, tired to the place where they are desperate for any kind of a compromise. Not all of them feel that way,” he admitted, “but enough do, and that’s frightening. It’s bad enough to die, but to not be convinced the cause is worth dying for makes battle a travesty. In parts of the North I don’t suppose there’s ever been strong feelings for or against slavery. That doesn’t surprise me—”

  Jacobs interrupted, “The war is for the purpose of saving the Union, not the slaves.”

  “But now I’m wondering if the soldiers have lost confidence in the Union.”

  “Why do you think this?”

  “One of the subjects coming out around the campfires is that they feel they are being held back from the kind of fighting they feel is necessary for this war to be settled.”

  “What kind is that?” Jacobs asked heavily.

  “Fighting until the job is done; pushing until they conquer. Almost to a man they seem to feel they are being unnecessarily restrained. Sir, these fellows impress me. I think they know what they’re talking about, and I sympathize. These men want to get this war over and go home.”

  “Duncan,” Jacobs said thoughtfully, “thanks for talking. You’ve confirmed things I’ve sensed and heard.” He tapped the paper in front of him. “This dispatch reflects my feelings, now they’re echoed by yours. And I heartily endorse the men’s statements. I want to see this war finished. Right now I doubt these men can continue this conflict for another year. And God help the poor Confederates, they are about the most miserable bunch of men I’ve ever seen, but they fight like nothing human. It’s as if they have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

  Jacobs got to his feet, folded the paper and placed it in a leather case. He hesitated, then pulled out a folded newspaper. “This newspaper was passed on to me by an Englishman who has come to the United States for the purpose of taking our pulse. I felt the need to pass it higher. Let me read snatches to you. In this editorial, the writer says:

  Great Britain sees the American war with two faces. Our aristocracy has long considered the Yankees as uncouth bumpkins, putting them on a par with the slaves. The English revere the manner of living embodied in the Southern structure, to the place where there has been a conscious effort to overlook the means by which this life is supported. Of course that is slavery, the institution the British profess to abhor.

  He glanced at Alex. “There’s more in the same vein. There’s one snappy phrase I like, by a man named John Bright. He says, talking about the United States, there’s never been a country where the people have been so free and prosperous. He goes on to say Confederates ‘are the worst foes of freedom that the world has ever seen.’ Here, Duncan, take it to Washington. The name of the man who must receive this is on the inner flap.”

  ****

  Olivia took the letter from Amos and carefully turned it over. It was Alex’s handwriting. “I can nearly hope again,” she breathed, holding it against her face for a moment.

  Sadie touched her arm, “Sit down, thee will be sick with hope as thou hast been sick with worry. Now, read thy letter.”

  Olivia, my dear wife. I write in haste, filled with the need to urge your continued faith and hope. I haven’t had a letter from you since the middle of October and guess the situation to be the same with you. As you can see this is written and posted from Washington. Right now it appears we’ll continue to be in the same impossible situation, sitting out the war on the banks of the Potomac. Please, don’t worry. It may be months before you hear from me again. For some reason we have a bottleneck in the outgoing mail, and I don’t know what to expect coming in. I’m well, but concerned for you…

  Olivia held the paper to her face and fought to control the tears streaming down her face. Sadie came into the keeping room. Blinking at the tears, Olivia saw the concern on Sadie’s face. “I’m not ill, it’s just that—” her voice failed and she leaned against Sadie’s shoulder.

  “Olivia, thee must break this tide of sadness. It isn’t healthy for thy babe. Come now and eat. Thee has scarcely had a decent meal for the past week.”

  She sat up and mopped at her eyes. “Now I’m crying because it is so hopeless to send him a letter. He’s worried and I’ve no way to tell him that everything is fine. Oh, Sadie, I wonder if he has enough to eat. In the last letter he mentioned salt pork and cornbread. That doesn’t seem like much for a man as big as Alex.”

  “Now Olivia, thee knows the Union feeds their men better than that. I think thee frets too much. Come, let’s take it to the Lord, and then thee can enjoy thy dinner. Since Crystal has gone east with Matthew, thee has not had the appetite thee should have for the babe.”

  Chapter 28

  Early one misty October morning Alex was awakened by the bugler. He lifted his head to listen and his eyes met Dowd’s. His tentmate said, “That’s a call to assemble. I wonder if we’re being attacked?”

  Alex rolled out. “I doubt it, but we’d better move.”

  Standing in parade formation, Alex counted regiments. As far as he could see, blue-uniformed men covered the banks of the Potomac.

  General McClellan and his staff passed down the ranks and turned to address the troops. “Tomorrow,” he proclaimed, “October 26, 1862, we shall began our march against the enemy. Due to the size of our army and in consideration of the seriousness of the task that lies before us, it will be to our favor to refrain from moving with undue haste. Today I shall dispatch scouts to reconnoiter and report back. All regiments shall be in a state of readiness to begin our march tomorrow.”

  Alex’s friend Wade came into the tent after breakfast. “Well, old buddy, I’ve a feeling our divisions won’t be this close together again for a long time.”

  “I’ll miss our talks,” Alex said, getting to his feet and holding out his hand.

  “I’m hoping this whole affair will be resolved early into the new year. Alex, I’d like to have your address. When this is over, let’s try to get together. I’d like to meet your wife and see that little fellow. I know my wife will feel the same way.”

  “Sounds fine to me,” Alex said, ducking into his tent to hunt for paper. “I’ll write it out for you. It’ll be interesting to see you again and talk over our experiences. God grant this will soon be settled,” he added.

  Late the following day, while Pennsylvania troops waited by the Potomac for their turn to cross, word rippled through the ranks. Standing beside Alex, Wade said, “We’re sure not sneaking up on them. They say Lee’s positioned Longstreet between us and Richmond. We’ll have to fight every inch of the way. Have a feeling Lee’ll be escorting us back here by next week. We might as well leave the fires burning and the soup on.”

  “Ah, sour apples!” retorted his buddy. “We sent them running after Antietam. The Union is doing its stuff now.”

  “It’s to be move, halt, move, halt,” Wade told Alex. “No wonder President Lincoln is getting impatient. We have lots in common, Lincoln and me. I’m impatient, too. How much longer is this going to last?”

  ****

  “Well, sounds like things are moving again,” Amos said when he walked into the farmhouse. “General McClellan has been relieved of his command and General Burnside is in as commander of the Army of the Potomac.”

  “Potomac,” Olivia repeated. “That means Alex will be moving.” Slowly she added, “I suppose all I can do is wish him godspeed and continue to pray for him.” She sighed and pressed her hand to her side.

  ****

  Dense fog blanketed the battlefield. Alex stepped out of his tent and tried to peer through the swirling haze. He moved his shoulders uneasily, more alarmed by the distortion of sound than the blanket of moisture surrounding them. Distant oars seemed to splash within camp.

  It was mid-morning before the eerie gloom began to lift. Slowly the landscape reappeared, and the phantom oars and thready voices disappeared
.

  Even before the fog was gone, the commanders issued orders. The word was passed down the line, “We’re doing battle today.”

  Shivering in the cold dampness, they were given instructions. Meade’s men were to march toward Stonewall Jackson’s position. Alex was with General Franklin, and their contingent was ordered to cross the open plains.

  Just as the sun pierced the fog, Alex saw they were below Lee’s position. They heard the command, “Company halt!”

  “Ain’t we going up there?”

  “Can’t go nowhere until ordered. That’s Meade up there.”

  “Well,” drawled the soldier beside Alex, “at least we’ve got a good view of the battle. See, the fog’s finally lifting.”

  Alex turned to watch Meade’s men dash toward the hill where Lee’s men were positioned. The lifting fog revealed two columns of blue marching rapidly toward the stone wall at the base of the hill. Alex found himself gripping his gun until his hands ached. “Our men are moving out!” he muttered.

  Sweat dripped onto Alex’s musket as he watched men crash through ravines and leap across marshy ground before plunging toward the stone wall running the length of the hill. “Dear Lord, that’s impossible! They’ll never survive,” he exclaimed, watching the fragile line of blue.

  As the men reached the stone wall, Alex saw the gray mass rise beyond them. He groaned helplessly as the rifles began to fire with the steady precision of drums, pounding out a staccato barrage with deadly results. The blue uniforms hesitated, then crumpled away from the wall.

  The hours of the afternoon ticked by slowly as Alex watched mass after mass of blue uniforms assault the wall and fall at its feet. “Oh God,” Alex groaned.

  “We’ll all be in there, unless Burnside calls a halt to this suicide,” muttered Henson. “Look at that, our men keep coming out of that ravine, and the Confederates are mowing them down as fast as they appear!”