Freedom (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  “Yes,” Robert said defensively. “Abe and Ginger are brother and sister. What of it?”

  “You told me that she was your cousin.”

  “Ginger and Abe lived at Van Buskirk Point all their lives – their family’s owned land and a home there since the Revolution. They are very much like our cousins.”

  “That’s an evasion,” Sherman complained. “You should have told me the whole truth.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Because Georgia, or Ginger as you call her, is a member of the United States Armed Forces and she’s passing for white.”

  “I was there with Ginger when she applied for the nurse’s corps, Cump,” Robert said after a moment. “Neither the Navy’s form nor the Merchant Marine’s form asked for the applicant’s race. People simply assume that she’s white. She’s done nothing to encourage that.”

  “It’s dishonest,” Sherman insisted, “and so was your failure to tell me.”

  “Bah,” Grant said. “Robert told me and I advised him not to tell anyone else. Including you.”

  “Then you’re dishonest too,” Sherman grumbled.

  “It is not dishonest,” Grant said heatedly. “Ginger’s got red hair and blue eyes. She’s as white as any white woman can get.”

  “Her grandmother was colored,” Sherman said. “That makes her colored under Mississippi law.”

  Grant leaned forward to look into Sherman’s eyes. “What’s this? Since when have you become a proponent of the Southern miscegenation horseshit?”

  “Since I found out that Quincy married Chrissy while they were prisoners of war at Vicksburg,” Sherman said.

  “Married?” Robert put his hands to his head. “Oh no, no. Not really.”

  “Really,” Sherman growled.

  Robert looked stunned. “That’s a felony in most states, North and South.” He looked from Sherman to Grant.

  “Most definitely so in Mississippi,” Sherman said. “You’re beginning to see my problem.”

  “Your problem?” Robert asked.

  “Yes,” Sherman replied. “Quincy’s an officer in my command and the nephew of one of my closest friends. Now I discover that he’s a felon.”

  Grant started to say something, but then changed his mind.

  Robert sat back in his chair with a deep sigh. “You’ll have to relieve Quincy of his commission, Sam.”

  “Me?” Grant shook his head. “Not me. He’s in Cump’s command. If the boy has to be relieved, Cump has to do it.”

  “Damn.” Sherman stood up and paced to the middle of the road and back. “Everything else aside, Quincy’s a fine officer. The best. Smart, brave, honest and trustworthy.” He shook his head. “Why’s he done this to me?”

  Neither of the others replied, but Robert rolled his eyes.

  “Maybe we could have the marriage annulled,” Sherman suggested after a short silence.

  “Maybe,” Robert agreed. “But those two young people are so much in love that nothing short of a firing squad is going to keep them apart.”

  “But if they’re not married, no laws are broken,” Sherman argued.

  “Most anti-miscegenation laws include cohabitation and fornication between races as being criminal activities,” Grant said, shaking his head. “Here, in Mississippi, they’re felonies.”

  “You don’t have any choice, Cump,” Robert said.

  “Let’s not be too hasty,” Sherman replied after a moment. “There may be a way around this.”

  “Such as?” Grant asked.

  “Such as erasing whatever proof there is that Christina Davenport’s colored,” Sherman suggested.

  “That’s aiding and abetting a felony,” Grant said.

  Sherman nodded. “Yeah. I suppose it is. Any other ideas?”

  “Can you assign Quincy some duty that’ll keep him in Vicksburg and then evacuate Chrissy and Ginger to here?” Grant asked.

  “Of course,” Sherman replied. “For what purpose?”

  “Keep in mind that we’re breaking the law every minute that we know about this without taking any action,” Robert said before Grant could answer.

  “You’re wrong about that,” Grant said, shaking his head. “We’re not breaking any laws by investigating. We’ve got no proof that Chrissy’s not Caucasian. Only hearsay.”

  “That’s true,” Sherman agreed.

  “Now there’s a thought. What if she wasn’t even an American?” Robert relit his cigar.

  Grant looked at him. “Are you going to explain that, or do we have to guess?”

  “What if?” Robert repeated through a cloud of smoke.

  “Anti-miscegenation laws don’t apply to foreigners,” Sherman said.

  “How does that help us?” Grant asked.

  “Ginger’s son, Samuel, was shot by slave chasers who were kidnapping free Negros in the North and then selling them in the South,” Robert said. “After the Dred Scott ruling, Samuel became so disenchanted with America that he went to Holland, changed his name from Van Buskirk to Lincoln and was granted Dutch citizenship.”

  “Lincoln?” Grant chuckled. “Abe’s nephew’s name is Lincoln?”

  Robert shrugged. “Van Buskirk wasn’t really his name anyway. His great-grandmother was my great-great-uncle Abraham Van Buskirk’s slave.” He thought a moment. “That may not be enough ‘greats’, but you get the idea.”

  “So, are you proposing that we send Chrissy to Holland?” Sherman asked.

  Robert puffed on his cigar. “Why not?”

  “Do you think Ginger would want to go too?” Sherman asked.

  Robert shook his head. “No. She and Abe both want to keep the Van Buskirk name.”

  “I have a better idea,” Grant said.

  The other two looked at him. “What?” Robert asked.

  “Kansas,” Grant pronounced. “There aren’t any laws against interracial marriage in Kansas. We’ll get the Mississippi marriage annulled, then transfer Quincy and Chrissy to Kansas where they can get married legally.”

  “How are we going to transfer them to Kansas?” Sherman grumbled. “There’s no war in Kansas. Not any regular war anyway. Just a bunch of rabble guerrillas pretending to be soldiers. Jayhawkers and Bushwhackers.”

  “We have a substantial force supporting the militia in Kansas,” Robert said. “I was posted there after the Mexican War.”

  “No general grade positions, I’d wager.” Sherman argued.

  “If there aren’t, you can get your brother-in-law, Thomas Ewing, to create one,” Robert replied. “If I recall correctly, he’s recently been promoted to brigadier and put in command of the District of the Border.”

  “Yes.” Sherman nodded, then grinned. “Yes. Of course. Tom will help us.” He turned toward Grant. “Can you get the Navy to transfer Chrissy and Ginger to the military hospital at Fort Davidson?”

  Grant nodded. “Farragut will arrange that if I ask him to. But I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to go asking Tom Ewing for any favors.”

  “Why?” Sherman asked.

  “Some of his methods are so draconian that the President is getting worried,” Grant replied. “I’d advise you to stay clear of him.”

  Sherman shook his head. “Tom’s Ellen’s brother. Nothing’s going to change that.”

  “There is something else,” Robert said to Sherman. “If you take Quincy out of the war he’s going to raise ungodly hell.”

  “It only needs to be temporary,” Sherman said dismissively. “Long enough for him to get legally married.”

  “Okay,” Robert said. “But you tell him.”

  “You’re his uncle.”

  “You’re his commanding officer and this was your idea.”

  “My idea?” Sherman argued. “It was you that mentioned talking to Tom.”

  “I still don’t like the idea of involving Ewing no matter whose idea it was,” Grant said. “The next thing you know we’ll have Rosecrans sticking his nose in too.”

  “Maybe we should send Abe
and his brigade,” Robert suggested. “It gives Quincy a brigade under his command so that we won’t need Ewing’s help.”

  “No,” Grant said. “I can’t justify spending that much of the taxpayers’ money to solve a personal problem.” Grant shook his head. “Abe’s fine where he is.”

  “Absolutely,” Sherman agreed. “His African Brigade was nothing short of heroic in their defense of Milliken’s Bend, by the way.” He looked at Grant. “Is there any way that we can give him a medal for his valor?”

  “He’s not in the U.S. Army,” Grant replied. “If he was, I’d brevet him to brigadier general tomorrow. But there aren’t any medals or commissions authorized for colored troops.”

  “I think he’s satisfied as a sergeant major,” Robert said.

  “Maybe.” Grant nodded. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that he’s acting as a brigade commander and should have the rank to go with the responsibility.”

  “His men think he’s a god,” Sherman said. “That’s good enough. But I’d certainly like to see him decorated.”

  “After the surrender of Vicksburg I’ll have some political capital,” Grant said. “I’ll spend some of it on Sergeant Major Van Buskirk.”

  “Spend some of it on getting him decent weapons, please,” Robert replied. “They’re carrying muzzle loaders.”

  “We’ve just captured thirty thousand Confederate rifles and warehouses filled with ammunition,” Grant said. “We’ll issue the best of those weapons to the African Brigade for now, and replace them when something better’s available.”

  Robert nodded. “Let’s get back to this problem of Quincy and Chrissy.” He looked from Grant to Sherman. “After thinking about it – I agree with Sam that spending the taxpayers’ money for personal reasons is wrong.”

  “Let’s think about it for a while longer before we close the door on the whole idea,” Grant said. He looked at Sherman. “Maybe there’s no harm in discussing it with your brother-in-law, just to see what options we have. Are you listening to me, Cump?”

  “Wait a minute.” Sherman started pulling pieces of paper from his pockets.

  “What in blazes are you looking for?” Grant asked.

  “I just remembered.” Sherman patted his other pockets. “I’ve got a letter from Tom somewhere.”

  “From who?”

  “From Tom Ewing. My brother-in-law.”

  “A letter about what?”

  “About William Clarke Quantrill.”

  “The outlaw?” Robert asked.

  Sherman nodded, then gave up the search of his pockets. “Quantrill’s a bit more than an outlaw. His gang’s really a regimental-sized guerrilla force that represents the Confederacy. The letter from Tom says that Quantrill was, or soon will be, commissioned by Jefferson Davis.”

  “What’s that have to do with the subject at hand?” Grant asked.

  “I agree with you both that we can’t spend the taxpayers’ money for personal reasons,” Sherman replied, “but Quantrill’s not our personal problem. His raiders are a Confederate force that requires Federal troops to combat.”

  “You’re still talking about sending Abe and the African Brigade?” Robert asked.

  Sherman shrugged. “Why not? If Kansas needs troops…”

  Grant looked dubious. “Do you know how tangled the politics are in Kansas and Missouri, Cump?”

  “Yes.” Sherman nodded. “I think Tom Ewing can and will ease the way. He’s very worried about Quantrill attacking some major settlement.”

  Grant shook his head. “I’m not concerned about Ewing. Ewing reports to Rosecrans. If we send troops, Rosecrans will see it as usurping his authority.”

  “Rosecrans hasn’t any influence outside of Kansas and Missouri, Sam,” Robert said. “Anna says that the President thinks he’s unstable.”

  “I know.” Grant nodded. “It’s Rosecrans’s influence in Kansas that concerns me, not his influence in Washington. He’ll do all he can to take command of any troops we send there.”

  “Colored troops?” Robert asked. “I don’t think so.”

  “He’s right,” Sherman said. “Rosecrans insists that colored soldiers are too meek to be used in combat. He wouldn’t want to risk being tainted by the African Brigade in his command.”

  “Okay,” Grant said with a nod. “You’re right. I’m convinced. Abe and the African Brigade will go with Quincy to take down William Quantrill’s guerrillas. Farragut will transfer Chrissy and Ginger as medical support. All legitimate, government business.”

  A messenger rode up, dismounted, saluted and handed a message to Robert.

  “Thank you,” Robert said as he opened the envelope. He read the message and then put it back in the envelope.

  “Bad news?” Grant asked, reading Robert’s face.

  Robert nodded. “My brothers Jack and Tom are missing in action at Gettysburg.”

  Sherman looked confused.

  “Jack’s the chief of staff for John Reynolds and Tom’s with John Bell Hood,” Grant explained to Sherman. “They were both at Gettysburg. You heard about the battle at Gettysburg, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, yes,” Sherman replied. “I know all about it. Reynolds is probably dead. So are Weed, Zook, Barksdale, Garnett, Semmes, and Lo Armistead.”

  “How do you know that?” Grant asked.

  “I got the news this morning from the Confederate telegrapher in Vicksburg,” Sherman said.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Grant asked.

  Sherman shrugged. “I assumed you got an official notice from our War Department.”

  Grant rolled his eyes. “No. I’ve heard nothing official about Gettysburg. I’m surprised that got through.” He pointed to the telegram in Robert’s hand.

  Robert looked up from the message. “Did you see anything about Jack or Tom while you were in the Vicksburg telegraph office, Cump?”

  “No.” Sherman shook his head. “I’d have told you right away.”

  “Of course you would have,” Robert said. “Sorry.”

  “Who’s that from?” Grant asked Robert.

  “Nancy,” Robert replied. “She’s also asking for news about Quincy. Anna’s worried.”

  “Lucky you have a wife in Washington,” Grant grumbled. “You sure can’t depend on the War Department for information. Did you hear anything else in Vicksburg about Gettysburg, Cump?”

  Sherman shrugged. “Not much more than I just told you. It sounds like the battle’s over and that Meade out-generaled Lee.”

  “If the Confederate telegraph is saying that, it must have been a total rout,” Grant replied.

  “They didn’t exactly say that it was a Union victory,” Sherman said, “but the tenor of the message was very gloomy. We’ll have to wait for the northern newspapers to find out for sure.”

  “Jack was so pleased that Reynolds wanted him,” Robert said, shaking his head sadly. “He was always the best soldier in our family.”

  “That’s the way I want to go,” Sherman said. “Just disappear in the midst of some great and glorious battle.”

  “Out here we seem to be stuck with long, boring sieges,” Grant said. “There’s not a great and glorious battle anywhere in sight. Port Hudson’s going to surrender now. With Vicksburg gone there’s no point in the Rebs sacrificing any more lives to defend it. Little Rock’s indefensible.”

  Sherman nodded. “Yeah, I agree. In a few more days we’ll own the Mississippi and the South will be split in two.”

  “Let’s not start counting our chickens just yet.” Robert got up. “I better go send a telegram to my wife and my sister about Quincy.”

  “Don’t mention to Nancy or Anna that Quincy’s married in an open telegram,” Sherman cautioned. “Anyone could read it and the whole thing could blow up in our faces before we can fix it.”

  Robert nodded. “We need to get the annulment process started as soon as possible.”

  “Annulment’s too slow and unsure,” Grant said. “One of our people just needs to fi
nd the marriage records and lose them.”

  “That’s a very good idea,” Sherman said. “I’ll see to it.”

  July 4, 1863

  Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

  General Paul Van Buskirk rode along Cemetery Ridge toward Power’s Hill. To his right, the field was covered with Confederate corpses and flocks of carrion-eating birds. The smell was overpowering. To his left, Union troops were forming up, preparing to march. “Is this the Twentieth Maine?” he asked a captain on horseback.

  “Yes, sir.” The captain saluted.

  Paul returned his salute. “Where can I find your commanding officer?”

  The captain pointed. “He’s over there by that tree. The tall one. His name is Chamberlain.”

  “Thank you.” Paul eased his horse onto the grass and rode toward the two officers under the tree. The taller was a lieutenant colonel and the shorter was a lieutenant. Both men saw him coming and nervously made a check of their uniforms, buttoning buttons and smoothing seams. Paul dismounted and led his horse under the tree. “Colonel Chamberlain?”

  “Yes, General.”

  Paul answered their salutes. “My name is Paul Van Buskirk.”

  “Joshua Chamberlain, sir. This is my brother, Thomas.”

  Paul nodded to the lieutenant. “I’m looking for my father, Confederate General Thomas Van Buskirk. He was leading the attack against your position at Little Round Top.”

  “We captured a Confederate general, sir,” Thomas Chamberlain replied. “But I didn’t get his name.”

  “Was he wounded?”

  “Yes, sir. But they were bayonet wounds, not bullet wounds.” He looked toward his brother. “We were out of ammunition so my brother – the colonel – ordered a bayonet charge.”

  Paul had to smile at the younger man’s obvious pride in his brother. “That was a very brave thing to do. It probably saved the day.”

  “How badly was the Confederate general hurt, Tom?” Colonel Chamberlain asked his brother.

  “I can’t say for certain, Lawrence. We were wicked busy at the time.”