by Jana Petken
She thought again. Her eyes widened. She frowned, staring at the letter. No, she couldn’t write to Fort Monroe. Bloody hell, she would be arrested again if she were caught with a letter to the Union fort. “Think, Mercy, think before you do anything stupid!” she whispered angrily.
She creased her brow and thought again about the past six months. Mrs Bartlett had been a wonderful hostess. She was a kind soul, albeit the biggest gossip Mercy had ever laid eyes on. Her husband, the senator, had introduced Mercy to the annals of government, and she had learned much from visiting dignitaries passing through the Bartlett house. She had spent time with Jacob, something she would never have been blessed with had it not been for Mrs Bartlett. Overall, her stay had not been wasted – but it was time for her to leave.
Chapter Forty-Six
The open ground stretched for a mile. Jacob and his men rode at a gallop towards the forest at the edge of the clearing. The top half of Jacob’s body lay low across the saddle. His two hands gripped the reins, and every now and again, he flicked them across Thor’s flanks. He was fatigued beyond words. He was so drained that he could barely think straight. He had scarcely recovered from the battle, and he felt as though he had not lifted his behind off the saddle since the Williamsburg retreat.
He could feel the dried mud on his face and neck crack like broken skin. His head and hair were drenched in sweat. His right coat sleeve was scorched by continuous rifle fire, and his arm stung like the devil. He had not bathed in days, and his uniform still bore the stench of death and gunpowder. His grey coat was covered in dark blood patches, and even his buttons had turned red in colour.
They had left the bulk of the Confederate Army days ago, after it had begun its withdrawal from Williamsburg. The Southern army had amassed thirty-two thousand men in an attempt to hold that town and push the Union back. It had suffered over fifteen hundred casualties and losses, including cavalrymen involved in skirmishes.
There had been no outright victor in the bloody Williamsburg battle that had taken so many lives. At one point, Jacob had been convinced they would triumph over the larger Yankee army, but after coming close to overrunning the Union’s flank, they failed at the last minute to break through it. The Union army then took two Confederate abandoned redoubts in a counter-attack, and though the Confederates persistently tried to take back lost ground, they were unsuccessful.
Jacob and his exhausted men had ridden hard since leaving the town of Oak Grove, some fifty miles north-east of Richmond. They had just completed a reconnaissance mission, but they had also been tasked with escorting engineers and a logistics team to Oak Grove, with the aim of erecting telegraph lines. Their aim now was to meet the Ninth Virginia Cavalry Regiment, picketing Union lines around Fredericksburg before nightfall.
Jacob slowed his horse to a gentle canter and finally a walk as they came upon an area of swamp. Behind Jacob were twenty men from Portsmouth, including George Coulter and Sergeant Tybrook. The remnants of their unit were to be transferred into the newly formed Ninth Virginia Cavalry Regiment. Having been part of a rearguard force during the retreat from Yorktown, they were late in joining the regiment’s ranks. Their job had been to give the bulk of the army time to get away.
Jacob waded through the forest’s swampy slime floor, pushing his tired legs forward whilst leading Thor by the reins. His mind flashed with grisly images and sounds of the Williamsburg battle. He would never forget the dying screams of men, blood spurting out of chests, limbs being shattered and torn off. He had ridden on that day through smoke so thick that his mouth had tasted gunpowder, and he had not been able to see his hand at the end of his outstretched arm. Six of his men had been killed. He had left their bodies behind on the ground. He’d barely kept himself in the saddle as Thor swerved and jumped to miss downed horses and injured men. He would never see his dead men again, but their faces were still emblazoned in his mind.
He finally knew war, its ugliness and undignified effect on the hearts of men willing to kill a body for a slither of ground. He was not sure how many men he had killed. He had not counted the shots he had fired or how many times he had thrust his bayonet through the enemy’s skin and bone.
He turned to see his men staggering in the knee-high bog. They still had a way to go before reaching the Ninth. He was sure the commanders could do without them for another few hours. His men needed sleep and so did he. “I reckon we should rest up a while at the next creek or river we come across. I don’t know about y’all, but I refuse to go another day without bathing this stench off me.”
“We’re not far from a bunch of streams. I saw them on the way up here,” Sergeant Tybrook said. “They must be close. I figure they must be just east of this swamp.”
“You sure, Sergeant?”
“You know me, sir. When have I ever steered you wrong?” Sergeant Tybrook grinned.
“We got coffee, Captain,” George Coulter said.
Jacob nodded. Coffee sounded good. “I say we hunker down for a few hours. I figure it’s about a three-hour ride till we meet our new comrades. I reckon they won’t find cause to miss us for an hour or two. I got a powerful need for food. We got victuals?”
“Some cornbread and dried pork,” another man said. “We got enough to go around, I reckon.”
“Let’s get to it. Find us those streams, Tybrook. Cornbread and coffee sounds mighty fine.”
They came upon a stream still swollen from recent rains. The ground was muddy in patches, but there was a cluster of trees nearby with a bed of grass surrounding it. It would suit their purpose, Jacob decided. He gave the order to dismount.
A fire was set. Tybrook revealed a handful of coffee beans and grinned at Jacob. “I took these off a dead Yankee. Figured he wouldn’t have no more need of them. Next battle, I’ll hang an extra satchel over my shoulder. Might get enough coffee to last a week.
Jacob strode towards the edge of the stream, taking off his coat and shirt before he’d even reached it. He winced as he pulled the coarse shirtsleeves over his arms and head. He looked at his right arm. It was battered and bruised, red and blue from his wrist to his shoulder. It was not a wonder that it had stung like hellfire these past three days. It felt as though the entire arm was blistered. His damn rifle had done this. It had become so hot that the powder had flashed before he’d had a chance to ram the ball home. Twice he had picked another rifle belonging to a dead comrade.
He sat, undid his boots, and sighed with the luxury of moving his toes. When he was fully naked, he stepped into the water, just a couple of feet deep, and sat down. It wasn’t exactly the bath he’d had in mind, but it would do, he thought.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Mercy read the newspaper with her mouth open in shock and horror. She gulped down her tea, scarcely believing the words that met her eyes; she felt a rare moment of pessimism enfold her. On the morning of 10 May, thousands of Union soldiers had landed on Willoughby Spit and within hours had arrived in Norfolk. Mayor William Lamb was named in the article. She remembered him well – he was Jacob’s friend. She continued reading and sighed with relief. Mayor Lamb had apparently surrendered the city to the Yankees without firing a shot. Mercy was grateful for that at least.
Portsmouth had also been handed over to the Federals. Confederate forces had run, burning the Gosport Navy Yard before they left and taking all the weapons and arms they could get their hands on. Mercy closed her eyes. She could just imagine the retreating army in and around Portsmouth, with wagons filled with weapons, running to God only knew where. At least the poor men would have something to fight with, she thought.
Private and public houses had been confiscated, Plantations were being seized, and slaves were already running into the city asking for refuge. “Dear God,” Mercy said to Anna, “my friends live there – poor Belle and Dolly. What if they have lost their homes? And what about Stone Plantation and all its slaves? I can’t believe what I’m reading – Norfolk and Portsmouth gone?” Mercy read on. The Confederate ships
based in Gosport Navy Yard had also lost their home base. How would Hendry get back? she wondered. If he had made it into the Atlantic and was crossing it with cargo, he wouldn’t know anything about this.
She dressed quickly. She had purchased new breeches, boots, and a shirt only days ago, in anticipation of a day like today. They had been made especially for her. She had even managed to find leather braces to fit her small figure. She gazed at herself in the long mirror. Every time she wore breeches, memories of past triumphs and failures flooded back, but with them also came thoughts of adventure. She could already feel her energy and passion for life returning to her. She was thrilled to be on the move again, she admitted, for she had sat around for far too long wishing for change.
Mrs Bartlett was her greatest obstacle, she thought, lacing up her boots. Over a week ago, she had spoken with her hostess at length about her desire to leave the city, and she had faced a barrage of reasons that she shouldn’t. Mrs Bartlett was against the idea of Mercy going anywhere, and she had made her feelings known. But Mercy’s mind had been set on it then, and she was even more determined now.
Her heart was racing. She needed a gun – a good one. She should also get a few supplies together. She had to find a decent horse too, and there were not that many of those lying around for the taking. The army was snapping up all the horses it could get its hands on.
She combed her hair and then grabbed her satchel. She put a comb, some soap, and her bone-handled toothbrush inside it. She didn’t have room to pack clothes; a few undergarments would suffice. She looked in the wardrobe at all the fine gowns she had accumulated and shrugged. They would be here waiting for her when and if she returned. Her finery was the last thing she was worried about, or even cared about, for that matter.
Mercy found Mrs Bartlett in the drawing room. She was reading a newspaper with her small spectacles sitting on the bridge of her nose. She looked unusually pale, Mercy observed, as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Mercy stood in the centre of the room and coughed nervously. She was going to appear very ungrateful and selfish in Mrs Bartlett’s eyes, but this was her life, no one else’s, and her mind was truly set on its course. “Good morning, Mrs Bartlett. Did you sleep well?” she asked.
Mrs Bartlett’s eyes left the newspaper, and her face froze in shock. “Lord have mercy. Whatever are you wearing? Why in heaven’s name are you in those ridiculous garments? I declare, at first glance I almost mistook you for a boy! You cannot possibly go out looking like that. Why, my dear, what will folks think? I forbid it.”
Mercy swallowed hard. She shifted her feet nervously, slowly feeling the power she had felt earlier ebb away. “Mrs Bartlett, I am wearing these garments today because I am going on a journey.”
“I don’t understand – what kind of journey?” Mrs Bartlett asked her.
Mercy shuffled her feet again and said, “I’ve come to love you very much. You know that, don’t you?”
“Why, thank you. What a lovely thing to say. But what journey?”
“I’m leaving Richmond today. Please believe me: I’ve tried not to disappoint you, I really have, but my heart is not in this city. It’s with Belle and Dolly. I have to go to them.”
“My dear Mercy, we’ve talked about this. You cannot leave the safety of Richmond. Why, its madness. There are marauding Yankees roaming all over South Virginia. Look, Norfolk and Portsmouth have fallen!”
“I know. I read about that. I still can’t believe it. I’m so desperately sad, but this is why you have to understand my need to leave. I have had a wonderful time with you and your family, but I can’t sit here doing nothing when Belle and Dolly might be in danger. I know you’re set against my leaving but please give me your consent. ” Mercy watched Mrs Bartlett fold the newspaper. Her face was filled with unhappiness. “Please, Mrs Bartlett. Give me your blessing.”
“The day I met you, I knew you were far too spirited for your own good. Captain Stone will find no pleasure in this. He begged me to keep you safe, and I have fulfilled my promise to him. What is he going to make of your leaving? You do know he thinks you highly irresponsible at times?”
“I know he does. Jacob knows me better than anyone, but it’s not as if I’ll be in danger.”
“Of course you will! Do you think these blue coats will bid you a good morning like fine upstanding gentlemen? No, there are stories about their cruelty and rough behaviour. They’re taking or destroying everything in their path. They’re like a bunch of bloodthirsty heathens, and they won’t think twice about taking a woman’s innocence!”
“Well, we both know I’m not innocent, and anyway, I don’t believe half the stories I’ve read. There are good and bad men on both sides. I don’t think war changes the measure of a man’s character … or kindness of heart … or cruelty of soul.”
“Have you thought about what this will do to Captain Stone’s mood? Doesn’t he have enough to think about? You are being very selfish.”
“You might be right, but I will truly be selfish if I remain here whilst the people I love are being occupied by the enemy, and possibly living on the street,” Mercy said stubbornly.
“My dear, I can see your youthful passion for life and adventure. It shines through you. It’s part of who you are. I declare, there are times when I’m of a mind for setting off on an adventure of my own, but this really is very foolish of you.”
“I promise I’ll be very careful,” Mercy said.
Mrs Bartlett nodded absently, as though her mind had already moved on to an entirely different matter. “I suppose I could direct my talents towards medical issues. There are bound to be casualties among our gallant soldiers – what a dreadful thought. Whatever am I going to do without you? You make my life less tedious.”
“Does this mean I have your permission?” Mercy asked.
“You are not my prisoner. You do not need my permission. Have you thought about how you are going to arrive in Norfolk?”
“Yes,” Mercy told her. “I would like to buy a horse.”
“No, no, you will go by train.”
“No, Mrs Bartlett, I want to ride. I know how to get to Norfolk from here. I won’t be in any danger. I don’t like trains.”
“Are you going to be obstinate?”
“Yes, I am afraid I am.” Mercy smiled.
Later that day in the stable, Mercy mounted the horse she had just purchased and stroked its mane. “Well now, what am I going to call you?” she said. “You’re as black as coal. How about that? Do you like the name Coal? Yes, that’ll do nicely.”
She smiled at Anna, saddened to leave her and still perplexed with the young slave, who had earlier refused her freedom papers. Anna had stood before Mercy in the bedroom and had frowned at Mercy’s declaration that she, Anna, was a free woman. Mercy had hidden the freedom papers for weeks and had looked forward to giving Anna a gift that most slaves could only dream about. “Anna, I don’t understand,” she had said. “Are you telling me that you don’t want to have the choices that free people have? Is there nothing you want to do with your life apart from looking after white women and being told what to do?”
Anna had been unable to read a single word written on the piece of paper that Mercy had handed her, but she’d understood its meaning, and it had made her miserable. “Oh, Miss Mercy, I ain’t got no use being a free woman,” she’d sobbed. “I’s doing just fine with my life right here. I’s real happy in this house, and I’s scared to be free.”
Mercy tightened the leather belted gun holster and made sure that her new Colt was sitting firmly in place. Her satchel and a rolled-up blanket were attached to her stiff newly bought saddle with rope straps. She also had a map, a canteen, and some dried bacon. She was ready. She looked again at Anna, who was staring up at her. The girl looked terrified. The sight of the Colt had scared the life out of her. “Are you sure you don’t want to be free, Anna?”
Anna nodded vigorously. “I’s sure, Miss Mercy – I’s real su
re. I don’ like no streets an’ no guns, an’ white folks scare me.”
Mercy shook her head. “All right, then, but when I come back, you might change your mind, and that’s all right too.” She would be mystified about Anna’s choice until the day she died. She had seen Seth lose his life, trying to grasp the freedom that Anna was refusing. She would never understand anyone not wanting to strive towards one’s God-given right to choose and aspire to be something bigger and better.
She rode out of the stable and sighed with happiness. She was free to do what she wanted – and what she wanted was for Norfolk to wait awhile longer. She had an important stop to make before her journey southwards.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The Union had taken over the hospital in Norfolk almost as soon as its army descended on the city. Isaac had not received a warm welcome on his arrival there and was disappointed that staff he already knew, from his years with Jacob and Hendry, had greeted him with silence or a begrudging nod of recognition, at best. The remaining hospital staff, refusing to work with the Union, had been thrown out of their jobs. Isaac had wasted no time in telling those that had remained that they would be wise to keep their rebel hatred to themselves. It was bad enough that he’d been posted here, never mind having to keep the locals in line.
In a somewhat pensive mood, he unpacked his medical instruments and medicines. He couldn’t rightly say if was happy or not about being back in Norfolk. His feelings were conflicted. He was exhausted and still reeling from the gruesome Williamsburg battle that he had just lived though. Being back here with old neighbours and friends who were now the enemy was not a comforting thought; it was a daunting one. He would not be received in homes once frequented, and his days of poker and drinking in Norfolk’s lively centre would remain a memory. The only good that might come from this posting would be the sight of Mercy, but even if she was in the city, he wasn’t sure if his heart could take another beating from her.
