by Marian Wells
“As long as it’s taken them to come to us? I dare not trust them to the mail again.”
Chapter 42
Matthew quickly climbed the stairs of the Vicksburg hotel, came into the room, and closed the door. He grinned at Crystal. “I explained the situation to the commander. He’s given me a furlough, with permission to visit home before returning you to Pennsylvania. It’ll be a quick trip, but as I told him, it’s more than a casual visit.”
Matthew sat down, and Crystal came to perch on the arm of his chair. “Matthew, I know you feel this burden to talk to your parents is from the Lord. I agree that it needs to be done as soon as possible. But are we wise to go now? I wonder if the trains have been restored.”
“Commodore Porter is sending gunboats down the river. He’ll give us passage to Natchez.”
She pressed her face against his. “I must confess,” she murmured in his ear, “I have a lot of qualms about meeting your parents.”
“It could be unpleasant,” he admitted. “Mother is particularly sensitive about my marrying someone she has not approved. And you can be assured she’s set her mind to disapprove of you. Crystal, even now I’ll not press you to go. Would you rather go on to New Orleans? It will be only a matter of weeks before steamers will be moving freely on the Mississippi.”
“No.” She nuzzled his ear. “Don’t mention being separated again.” She shuddered, adding, “I’ll endure anything—even facing your mother—to be with you.”
The following week the Union gunboat steamed into harbor at Natchez. Because of the muggy heat, Matthew and Crystal had spent most of the morning on deck, searching for a cool breeze. Just before they docked, Crystal said, “Matthew, for the past ten minutes you’ve had the strangest expression on your face. What is troubling you?”
“I’m not certain you’d call it trouble,” he said slowly. “Mostly I’m recalling the last time I was in the city. Remember? It was the day those very exuberant Confederates insisted I would preserve my health by enlisting in the army. Recalling it made me do some thinking. Crystal, I want you to carry all the money—even our identification papers and passports.
“Fortunately I have civilian clothing. I don’t anticipate problems, but I’d rather not take any chances.” He kissed her and whispered, “Don’t look frightened; just be prepared to scream if necessary.”
She smiled. “I’m not frightened. Matthew, with our accents, they’ll know we’re Southern. We’ll be safe.”
“Of course, my dear.” He glanced toward the harbor. “We’re here; I’ll go after our bags.”
As they walked away from the wharf, Crystal asked, “Do you want to visit your uncle before we leave town?”
He shook his head. “We’ll need to leave for home immediately, or we’ll be traveling in the dark.” Waving his hand, he shouted, “Laddie, we need a hack.”
The young man strolled toward them. He shoved his hat back and reached for the bags. “Where to, sir?”
Matthew turned to look at the youth. “Herm!” he said slowly, “Well, do surprises ever cease?”
Crystal watched the young man’s loose mouth tighten into a straight line. “Hey, it’s my buddy, Matthew Thomas,” he said slowly. “I haven’t seen you since New Mexico. What happened to you? Didn’t slip over the hill, did you?”
“Something like that,” Matthew said slowly. Crystal felt the tension mounting in her husband. His hand momentarily touched hers. “Matter of fact, I was wounded. The people who picked me up were Union, and more than glad to help me on my way.”
Herm grinned, shook his head slowly, and said, “Well, I’ll be an army mule if I don’t catch that. Hop in. Put the little lady in the back seat.”
Crystal watched as Matthew reached for her. His mouth was open to speak her name. Abruptly he closed it, and his face tightened. He helped her into the carriage, gave her hand a squeeze, and got into the front seat with Herm.
“Where to, buddy?”
“Up the hill to the hotel.”
Herm glanced at Crystal. “I’d expect you to want a hotel under the hill,” he leered.
Matthew was silent. Herm snapped the whip, and the horse started up the hill. Matthew asked, “This your hack?”
“Naw, don’t have that much money.” He glanced at Matthew and grinned. “Not that I wouldn’t want to.”
The cab stopped in front of the hotel. “You know there’s a bounty for deserters?”
“That so?” Matthew took Crystal’s arm. “Come, dear.”
Herm came around the hack. “Send the little lady inside, I want to have a word with you.”
Crystal lifted her chin. “I prefer staying. I don’t want to be dumped again.”
Herm chuckled a deep mirthless sound. “Go on, sugar.”
Matthew said, “It’s all right. Go inside, Crystal.”
Quickly she hurried inside, rushed to the desk. “That man out there, we need help!”
She whirled to point out Herm, just as an elderly man rushed through the door. “Call the police. I saw that cabbie knock a man over the head. He shoved him into the carriage and left in a hurry.”
“That’s my husband! Please do something quickly.”
The clerk eyed her curiously, glanced at the old gentleman, and asked, “Was he a darky too?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He glanced at Crystal and murmured, “Perhaps that would explain the matter.”
Crystal dropped her hand and stared at the men. From their expressions, she saw how futile it was to say more. Dazed, she looked around. The boat! the gunboat is still here! “Please, I need a ride down the hill.”
“I’d guess you could walk faster than I could get a hack up here,” the clerk said with a smile.
Crystal picked up her valise and ran out the door. She hurried down the curving street toward the gunboat. As she rushed across the wharf, she could see the captain on deck. “Captain! Captain Adams!”
He came over the railing and dropped to the wharf. Panting and sobbing, she gasped, “A man named Herm hit Matthew over the head and left with him in the carriage.”
“Get on the boat and stay out of sight,” he said as he turned and ran across the wharf.
****
Crystal paced the captain’s quarters, knowing deep inside that it was useless to hope. It was dark when Captain Adams returned. With a weary sigh he stood in front of her and said, “Ma’am, I’ve done everything I can think of, including going to the police.”
Choking on her tears, she turned away. “That man said there was a bounty on deserters.”
“Deserters!”
She nodded. “Two years ago when Matthew was here, he was forced to join the Confederate Army.”
Slowly Captain Adams shook his head. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I don’t think there’s a thing that can be done. We’re heading upriver in the morning. Want us to take you back to the transport? We’ll get you home and let the commander start negotiations for his release.” As he turned away, he muttered, “I just hope he can escape, because that’ll be a great deal less complicated.”
****
Matthew sat up and touched the tender lump on the back of his head. The concrete floor of his cell was damp and smelly. He looked down at the rough prison garb he wore and thought about Crystal. Dear Father, please take care of her. And thank You for helping me see the possibility of this very thing happening.
He tried to get to his feet, but when the walls began to whirl, he relaxed against the floor.
Slowly the days passed. Matthew’s only contact with humanity consisted of the guard’s brusque greeting and the plate of food shoved into his waiting hand. He lost count of the days as time passed in a haze of pain and troubled wondering.
One day the guard came with an empty hand. “The warden wants to see you. This way.”
The man wore a friendly smile. “We’ve finally found your records. Matthew Thomas of Natchez, Mississippi. Enlistment date of February 1861. Reported missing in March of 1862, New Mexico. You�
��re lucky. According to the procedure, you have a choice. Because of the war you don’t get shot first thing. You can stay with the army and have an opportunity to honorably discharge your duties, or you can choose court martial. I must warn you. You could be charged with treasonable conduct. These trials don’t last long.” He stopped to take a breath before adding, “You’re a smart fella; you know how badly the army needs men. If you prefer prison, fine, but if you don’t we’ll get you back into the army. Naturally, it will be an assignment where there’s no chance of your slipping out on us again. You’ll have constant supervision, and a shot in the back if you don’t cooperate.”
Matthew sighed, “Not much choice. I’ll stick with the army.”
The gray uniform was a size too large. Fortunately, Matthew thought with relief, the Confederate Army allowed him to keep his own shoes. The following day, after a night in the barracks and a meal of hardtack and beans, Matthew was called up for assignment.
“Private Thomas. You will be sent to Georgia. A new prison facility is being established there. They’ll be able to put you to work as a laborer. After the facility is in use, you will become a guard at the prison.” The man hesitated, grinning. “Might say that right off, the army isn’t going to trust you too close to Federal lines.”
****
Alex heard the footstep and turned. His jailer swung open the barred door, and Alex’s heart leaped with hope. The man grinned. “Don’t ya’ll go celebrating yet. Yer all being put in a safer spot. Come along; we got no time to waste. There’s a bunch more to round up fer the trip.”
Alex and the group of shabby Union prisoners were herded together. Three of the prisoners were Negroes. Alex looked at the men and nodded. When their guard moved away, he said, “Seen action?” The expression in their eyes was dismal as they nodded. Alex started, “I would—”
The guard nudged Alex with the butt of his gun. “Don’t open your mouth again. We don’t cotton to this kind of friendship. We’re moving out shortly. Learn to keep your mouth shut and your feet moving.” With their guards prodding them on, they faced east.
The Alabama prison was a crude stockade built on the edge of the forest. Alex looked around at the prisoners, noting the infected wounds and sunken eyes, and his heart sank.
****
The second day after their arrival at another stockade, Alex discovered that all the Negroes had disappeared.
“What happened to the black men?” he asked one of the other prisoners.
The man beside him laughed and shook his head. “Didn’t you expect it? Beyond a doubt, they were sold down the river.”
“So that’s all the good the Emancipation Proclamation has done,” Alex said bitterly.
“Did you think them Rebs would take kindly to it?”
“I suppose it’s just a shock to be back in the middle of it all.”
The man looked at him. “You’re Southern, aren’t you? How did you get mixed up with the Yanks?”
“Because I believe human bondage is wrong.”
“Said with a passion,” the fellow snorted. “Even us born-in-the-north Yanks don’t feel that strongly. Might say we’re wary about them coming up and taking our jobs.”
“I’ve a feeling there’s jobs for everyone who wants to work,” Alex replied shortly. “Don’t forget the emancipation makes the black man a consumer, too. He’ll be right in there beside you spending money.”
****
The oak leaves changed color and fell. Alex paced the narrow strip of soil which was slowly turning to a muddy slough under the onslaught of autumn rain. He flexed his arms and carefully tightened the muscles that had been torn by the Confederate slug. Rod Ames, a fellow prisoner, watched with a sardonic smile. “Wouldn’t hurt you to move around a little,” Alex muttered. “You’d keep your blood moving.”
Rod jerked his head toward their shelter. “I’m trying to toughen up. There’s little chance of gaining anything around here except endurance.” Alex looked at the shelter. The prisoners had constructed crude huts from the branches of trees, which did little to stop either sun or rain. Their beds were of shredded bark laid on the ground.
Alex stooped and made his way to the rear of the shelter. “Sleeping on the job?” Rod asked.
“Thinking about this winter, wondering if there’s a dry spot in here. I keep remembering a nice piece of canvas I had. I suppose some Confederate is enjoying it.”
“Well, I just about decided I’d rather take my chances over the hill than to sit here and rot in the rain,” Rod muttered. “With wormy meal and moldy bread, I don’t think I’ll hold out all winter.”
Alex sighed and admitted, “I’ve had the same thoughts. But right now I don’t see much chance of moving out.”
“Pence, over yonder, is working on a tunnel. It starts back in his shelter and will come out over in the bushes beyond the fence.”
Another prisoner, Doug, strolled over and squatted beside them. “I hear rumors of being moved out of here. Some say Georgia. That’ll be warmer in the winter.” Alex studied the man. In the brief time Alex had been in the stockade, he had watched Doug’s face change from healthy tan to a waxy yellow. The man’s hands were like claws.
Doug lingered. Alex glanced up at him. “Something on your mind?”
“I was thinking about what you said a week or so ago. About the comfort God gives even in situations like this. I’ve always been a church-going fella, but don’t know that my religion’s gone very deep.”
Studying the intent eyes, Alex said slowly, “Jesus Christ invited us to come to Him. The words are, ‘Come unto me…and I will give you rest…my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’” He looked up at the man. “Doug, I guess I haven’t thought too much about creeds, but I do believe the Bible is God’s word to us. It says Jesus Christ is God, and that He came to this earth for the purpose of reconciling us to God through dying on the Cross. I didn’t know what it was to live at ease with myself until I asked Christ to be my Savior. It works here, too. Every day I’m conscious of God close to me. If you’d like to know Him in the same way, all you need do is ask Him.”
“A fellow would be a fool to not ask, especially in a place like this.”
“In any place. But Doug, Christian faith isn’t just a religion for those who are dying; it’s for the free and living too. Knowing God makes all of life worthwhile.”
****
All too soon the cold rains came. Mornings revealed an edging of ice in the water buckets. Food rations decreased to a handful of beans and another of hardtack. Occasionally there was coffee and bacon, but the supply of cooking wood dwindled sharply.
As the weather turned cold, Doug’s cough worsened. Watching his fragile frame tremble with the effort of coughing, Alex realized the man wouldn’t live much longer.
On the morning after Doug died, Alex joined the group of planners. He listened to the talk and said, “If you’re serious, we’d better all help with the digging.”
“We gotta get out soon. We won’t last the winter here.”
The rains had turned to sleet, and moisture penetrated everything. Alex’s boots stiffened with cold and he pitied those with bare feet.
Rod saw his glance and said, “Just don’t take them off, they’ll be gone in a second. Seems the ones who die are those without shoes or blankets.”
“I had all my gear taken away from me,” Alex admitted. “At the time, I hurt so bad I didn’t care. Now I’d like to have that rubber sheet and my blankets.”
“Same thing happened to the rest of us,” Rod muttered. “If something doesn’t happen around here soon, we’re all going to be like that fellow over there.” He pointed to a prisoner tossing with fever.
“I’m ready any time you fellows are,” Alex murmured. “When do we start digging?”
Using a slab of wood for a shovel, one of the men would disappear into the hole in Pence’s shelter while the group huddled outside, making enough noise to cover every hint of sound coming from the shelter.
The rains continued, helping to wash away the dirt from the excavation, and the cold wind blew. Occasionally there was snow. Alex developed a cough. Rod Ames watched him with a furrowed brow. Gruffly he said, “We can’t afford to lose a digger. Drink this coffee.”
That night Pence said, “I figure we’re nearly through. We need to take advantage of dry weather. Don’t want to leave footprints out there. Let’s speed up the digging, I’d like to be home for Christmas.”
“According to my calculations,” Rod drawled, “it’s closer to Easter.”
At last the rains stopped, and Pence said, “I’m going to start digging toward daylight. I’ve eye-balled that stretch of tunnel until I’m positive we’re in the right position.” He turned to look beyond the fence. “I just wish those guards weren’t so fond of cutting through the underbrush.”
One evening Pence came out of the tunnel with his eyes shining. “Grass roots,” he muttered. “Tonight is the night.”
The sliver of moon disappeared behind the clouds. Rod touched his shoulder and Alex followed him to the tunnel. Alex counted the men in the shelter. He signaled Pence, and they began to drop into the tunnel, moving quickly, pushing against the person in front.
When Alex crawled out of the hole, the cloud across the moon had disappeared. He saw the glint of metal just as he stood up.
The guard muttered, “Pence, Ames, Stoddard, and Duncan. When are the others coming?”
Pence sighed wearily. “This is all.”
“Well, start marching. There’s a long walk ahead of you. Clear to Georgia. Too bad, fellows, but you might say you brought it on yourselves. They need help over in Georgia; they’re building a better prison. Need prisoners to fill it.”
Chapter 43
Olivia looked at the cherry-red stoves glowing at each end of the long room. Rubbing her hands together she said, “The warmth in this warehouse is simply an illusion.” She tugged at the heavy shawl draped across her shoulders and tucked it into her apron.
As she started for the center of the room, she noticed a young Rebel lieutenant watching her. “I can see you’re cold.” He grinned at her. “After listening to your speech, I think you like cold weather as little as I do, and you come by those feelings naturally.”
