Across the Great Divide

by Michael Ross

  Finally, they docked in Cincinnati. The officers were unloaded. Will watched Duke disembark and wondered if he would ever see him again. Should he have stayed with the officers? It was too late to change his mind. The private soldiers spent the night on the boat. Early the next morning, a few wagons were at the docks. Will saw that prisoners who could walk were herded off and made to stand in the heat. He was helped off the boat and allowed into one of the wagons. He sat listlessly. He scratched his scruffy week-old beard. He was filthy and sweaty. It was hard to think, hard to concentrate. In some ways, he didn’t want to. After all, what was the point? This is where his devotion to honor and to Morgan led him. The wagons began to move.

  ✳ ✳ ✳

  Julia sat in the kitchen reading the newspaper. Mama Kirsten rarely entered the kitchen, declaring it the domain of servants, not a true lady. Julia rejoiced in that, and used it as an escape.

  “More coffee, Mrs. Johannsen?” offered one of the kitchen maids.

  “Yes please, Laura,” said Julia, looking up and then returning to the article. The headlines proclaimed General Morgan and his command captured. Some sources disbelieved it, but others said the prisoners would arrive in Cincinnati in a few days. Could Will be among them?

  “Laura, bring me some writing paper and ink. I need to send a note to my family.”

  Julia had recently returned from visiting Albinia and her parents on the river. She quickly penned a note advising them that Will might be among the prisoners. Then her eye caught another article. It said that portions of the Third Ohio Cavalry were captured, and on their way to Libby Prison in Richmond. Hiram!

  ✳ ✳ ✳

  Julia and her family crowded in with the rest, lining the dock, held back by a rope line and soldiers. Most of the crowd was hostile, jeering and yelling at Morgan’s men coming off the boat. Some actually threw stones or bottles at the men. Julia and Albinia craned their necks to see, but were too short to see over everyone’s head. Little Lydia climbed up on her father’s shoulders. More than once Robert nearly dropped her, as his uneven legs struggled to retain his balance, jostled by the crowd.

  “There he is, Pa!” Lydia shouted. She wiggled and got down. She wanted to run to her brother.

  Sara held her. “You can’t, Lyddie. You can’t.”

  “But it’s Will. I want to go see him!”

  Albinia knelt down, pushing someone aside, to be at her sister’s level. “I know, sweetheart. But you can’t. Will is going to have to go away for a while. Maybe they’ll let us see him. Remember what I told you about being in prison? That’s what’s going to happen to Will.”

  Julia thought Lydia appeared confused. “But Will isn’t bad. What did he do wrong?” Lydia said.

  “I wasn’t bad, either,” Albinia said. “Prisons have bad people in them, but they also have people who just didn’t make the right choices.”

  “Well, I’m going to do something!” said Julia.

  Julia pushed forward to speak to the officer in charge of the prison detail.

  “Sir, my brother is in this group. I’m Mrs. Johannsen, of the Ohio Zephyr steamship company. If I could speak to him, even for a moment….”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. The governor says these men and their officers are common criminals, looters and thieves. The officers are going to the penitentiary. The men are going to Camp Morton.”

  “I helped the governor get elected! Please, just for a moment. I can promise you won’t get in any trouble.”

  The captain made a face. “Ma’am, I have my orders. Once they arrive at Camp Morton, you can speak to the commandant there. Meanwhile, you best clear the way. Go home, ma’am. These rebels aren’t worth your trouble. Mrs. Lincoln has brothers with the rebels too. She ignores them. You should do the same. Go home.”

  She tried to shout and wave to get Will’s attention, but it was hard to hear over the noise of the crowd. She could see Will just sitting, as though made out of wood.

  Disheartened, they watched as the men marched and the wagons rolled out. They went back to the Johannsens for lunch. The Crumps and Albinia boarded an Ohio Zephyr steamer, courtesy of Julia. Julia waved them off at the dock, returning home to write to Hiram.

  ✳ ✳ ✳

  Albinia couldn’t wait to get home. She wished she could have talked to Will, to comfort him, to let him know prison wasn’t forever—but also to warn him, based on her own experiences. Prisons did sometimes have bad people in them, or at least, people with pain who wanted to take it out on you.

  Since that hadn’t been possible, she offered prayers for him and turned her mind to Peter. Since her parents’ coming, the year had been so busy she barely had time to think. Her school for young Negro children in Georgetown was going well. She and Peter had a few Mondays together, when he would come down after church on Sunday and stay in town for the night. There had been no repeat of their intimate evening together. Could it have been eight months? Had something changed? In all that time she had seen him regularly, but there had been friendship, not intimacy. Increasingly, Mary was always around. Mary was unfailingly friendly toward her, but Albinia saw the glances between them, the laughter when they thought no one was looking. It was hard not to be jealous.

  When they arrived at the compound, Albinia peered ahead and saw Peter’s wagon in the yard. As Robert helped her down from the wagon, she thanked him and rushed inside.

  As she entered, Mary turned from the stove in Albinia’s kitchen and stumbled over an iron left by the fireplace. Peter caught her, and Albinia gasped a little. They were in an awkward embrace. Peter quickly disengaged himself, seeing Albinia. The image hit her like a knife. She turned and went back out the door, running down the path to the north along the river, toward the inn. She ran past her parents, not yet in the house, even ignoring a question from Lydia as she went by. She couldn’t believe it. Peter must be in love with her, his childhood friend. She was angry, and hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she ran. How could he? She had been a fool to trust him, to dishonor David’s memory! Vaguely behind her, she heard someone calling, but she was determined not to listen. She would stay at the inn tonight. Tomorrow she would figure out what to do. Her parents could have the farm. Ruth could take the school. She wasn’t needed here.

  Her eyes were red and swollen, her face blotched with tears, and her hair flying in a hundred directions. She reached the fence that marked the entrance to the yard around the inn, and slowed. This would never do—she couldn’t let herself be seen like this. She stopped to repair the damage as best she could. She heard footsteps pounding up behind her and looked for somewhere to hide, suddenly frightened, checking for her derringer.

  She turned and saw Peter running toward her. Her anger and hurt returned. She did not want to see him!

  “Albinia! Wait!” Peter gasped, galloping up to her. “I need to talk to you!”

  “We have nothing to talk about, apparently,” said Albinia icily. “It’s Mrs. Horner to you.”

  Peter reached out for her elbow, but she pulled free and glared at him. “How dare you!”

  “Albinia, please! It’s not what you think. Really. Mary and I are just good friends. We’ve known each other since childhood.”

  “I’ve heard that story,” said Albinia drily. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m not stupid. I’m hot and tired. I’ve come from a long journey, seeing my brother put in jail. Go away!”

  “Please, just hear me out. Just give me a few minutes,” Peter said, holding his hands out palms toward her and backing off a step or two. “Then if you want, I’ll leave you alone,” he said bitterly.

  Albinia turned to go, then turned back. “All right. You have two minutes.”

  “I know I haven’t been the suitor I should have been these past months. But before you condemn me, at least know that Mary is leaving. Tomorrow. I’m sorry that I’ve let work and friendship steal time from you. I could give you a hundred excuses, but you deserve better than that. I could say I’ve been out here on the Rail
road for so long, with no family, that having Mary and her family around has been like a visit to home. But mostly, I just want to ask you to forgive me. I love you, no one else. Not that way. Mary is like a sister. Please. If you won’t forgive me, I’ll regret it until I die.”

  Albinia softened a little and was about to reply, when Mary came up the path. She stopped a few feet away. Albinia’s anger flared again and she was about to leave, when Mary spoke, “Please. Mrs. Horner. Wait. I haven’t heard all that Peter has told you, but I can imagine. It’s true. I have no claim on Peter except long friendship. He loves you—he’s told me that. I am not interested in him romantically at all. Peter’s a fine man. He’s just slow at times about how women think.” She flashed an impish grin at him. “I hope you’ll listen to him. I would ask you to forgive us both. I meant it when I said I’d like your friendship. However, I am leaving for Texas tomorrow.” She walked closer and took each of their hands, placing Albinia’s in Peter’s. “But I’m also going to leave now. I think you two have things to discuss.” She turned and walked back down the path.

  “Will you forgive me?” Peter pleaded.

  She burst into tears and threw her arms around his neck. “Yes, Peter. Yes. With all my heart.”

  ✳ ✳ ✳

  Will looked around the derelict camp. It looked like a place abandoned, stomped on, and then reinhabited. Will guessed that over a thousand of Morgan’s men were in the wagon train to Camp Morton, on the north side of Indianapolis. The march in the summer heat, with little water and rest, covered over one hundred miles, and they arrived on July 23, 1863. Will supposed he might have been lucky to have the head wound, after all, since he got to ride in a wagon with other wounded, in spite of the putrid smell of gangrene.

  The camp gate arched, rising from two sides to a point. There was a high white board fence around the outside. Inside were long low-slung barracks and rows of tents. There were trees around the interior, and grass. One of the barracks had a hole in the roof, and a door flapped lazily on its hinges in the wind. Everywhere Will looked, men were sitting, playing cards or checkers, looking bored.

  A sergeant from the Massachusetts artillery checked them in and assigned them a bunk. Will walked into the barracks, hundreds of feet long, lined with tiers of bunks stacked four high. Down the center was a long thin table, apparently for eating purposes. Mosquitoes and gnats buzzed around his head, and he felt a wave of dizziness. The stench was overpowering. A rat skittered across the floor in front of them. The bunks were just wooden platforms with straw tick mattresses. Will was assigned to one of the bottom bunks, as the sergeant doubted his ability to climb.

  The sergeant looked Will over and said, “You one sorry excuse for a soldier, Reb. I reckon they’ll be plantin’ you with the smallpox group before the week is out.”

  Will sank onto the bunk, despairing, and began to pray.

  ✳ ✳ ✳

  August 1863

  Camp routine was dull. There was an attempt to make the prisoners drill, without weapons, but after a week or so, the Union soldiers gave up. There was fresh bread, baked daily, but little else besides occasional beans. Still the rest did Will good, and after two weeks he began to feel more normal. It was now three weeks since the battle.

  “Hey, you Johnny Reb! You hear the good news? They got that scoundrel Morgan. He’s goin’ to jail worse than here. Who knows? If you’re good and kiss Lincoln’s boots, they might let you outta here by Christmas. Course most of you leave in the natural way, greetin’ Saint Peter.” The guard walked off laughing nastily.

  Most of the guards were former prisoners of the Confederates, given parole, but for whom the Federals had not yet exchanged prisoners South. Under the terms of their parole, they were not supposed to fight, but could do guard duty for the army, freeing other troops for combat.

  There were two men on each bunk level. Will’s bunkmate was a Scot, Jamie McPherson. Will thought him a good companion, a God-fearing Presbyterian with a mischievous streak. He stood about five feet six inches, with brown hair, wide set eyes, dimpled chin, and prominent nose. He had a wiry strength, and was from the Third Kentucky Cavalry, where he served Morgan as a gunner manning the howitzers and Parrot rifles.

  One evening around the stove, Jamie took Will aside.

  “What d’ye say we liven up that guard’s life? I’d do it meself, but I need a lookout. Are ye game?”

  Will thought and shrugged. He felt all right, just cold and hungry. Some fun to pass the time couldn’t hurt. “Sure. When and where?”

  “Tomorra mornin’, early like, before the guards are awake.”

  Accordingly, Jamie poked Will the next morning before dawn, and they quietly rose and put their boots on. They cracked open the door and looked around—no one was moving in the camp. It was dark, and any guard on the wall wouldn’t see them. They moved quietly from one barracks building to another, until they reached the guard’s building.

  Will stood lookout at the door, though most of the guards were inside, sleeping. He shook his head at Jamie’s daring. Jamie found a bucket and went to one of the few water outlets in the camp. He returned with it nearly full of cold water. Removing his own boots, he crept into the guard’s quarters. He was out again in five minutes with his bucket nearly empty. No one made a sound, no one approached. Jamie stowed the bucket beside the rain barrel, and they both ran back to the barracks. When they were safely back in their bunk, Will saw that Jamie was having trouble not exploding in laughter.

  “Jes wait until that Federal tries to put his boots on this morning! I filled each boot with water and smeared a bit o’ butter from their mess on the floor around them, just to make it slippery like.”

  Will quietly chuckled and agreed that it would be a good joke.

  After dawn, roll call came. The guard who had insulted Morgan the previous day looked angry and sported a black eye.

  “You Johnny Rebs think this is some kinda circus, don’t you? Think you’re funny! When I find out who rigged my boots, you’re gonna wish you’d died instead of bein’ a prisoner.”

  A few days later, however, the prisoners turned out for an announcement.

  Colonel Rose, the commandant, addressed them. “You Kentucky men that came in from Morgan’s command—you’re all being transferred. This here’s a paradise compared to where you’re going. You’re all going to Camp Douglas in Chicago. May God have mercy on your souls.”

  True to his word, the next day Will, Jamie, and all the other Morgan men were loaded into freight cars on the train and shipped like cattle to the slaughter, north to Chicago. They arrived at Camp Douglas August 18, 1863. Morgan’s men arrived on successive trains over the next five days, until Camp Douglas had over three thousand new arrivals.

  The barracks here were smaller. Will talked with one of the guards and learned they were intended to house about eighty men—they were now crammed with about one hundred per building. Will and Jamie managed to stay together. Will listened and found the sentiment among the men much changed—they were determined to escape and rejoin the fighting. He learned also that mail was easy to get in and out of the camp, and promptly sat down to write letters to his family.

  The barracks were pine board construction, raised on stilts off the ground about three feet, to make tunneling more difficult. The camp was laid out in streets and sections, with names like White Oak and Garrison. It was right up against the city, with the University of Chicago across the street. When Will arrived, there were streetcars of gawkers come to see the new prisoners. He learned that the camp was intended for Federal troops, but was converted to a prison. The high walls made it look difficult to escape, but Will soon learned that security was lax and corruption among the guards rampant.

  Once he and Jamie settled, they strolled about the camp. Jamie got a favorable reception from the guards, many of them Irishmen, who thought a Scot close kindred. Will saw a post office, barbershop, photographer’s studio, two sutler stores, a commissary house, and a chapel. He smelled
sewage, rotting food, and the stench of several thousand unwashed bodies.

  There was only one water hydrant for the entire camp, and it wasn’t working. Prisoners were not obliged to work, but Will saw it as a way to pass the time and improve conditions for everyone.

  At assembly, the guards took roll. Then DeLand, the commandant, addressed them:

  “I’ll not tolerate trouble here. Any man that causes trouble will be confined to the dungeon. I do not have enough troops to work on the camp, only enough to guard you sorry Rebs and keep you from mischief. Should any of you desire to improve your circumstances, see the sergeant of the guard in your section and he will assign you work to help your fellows. Anyone volunteering to work on the walls will receive one dollar and fifty cents Federal per day. Other work will not be paid, but may result in less sickness and better living. That is all.”

  Will sought out his sergeant and volunteered to work on digging new sewer and water pipes.

  Two weeks later, a ragged gray-clad soldier wandered over to where Will was digging.

  “Say, soldier, suppose you take a rest a while and let me borrow your shovel.”

  “You want to dig pipes?” Will asked.

  The man guffawed. “No, siree, not interested in doin’ the Federal’s work for them. But some of your fellows could use that shovel for the cause,” he said slyly.

  Will looked him over.

  “No, sir. If you want a shovel, go and ask the sergeant. I’m sure he would let you dig pipes, but not for another purpose.”

  “Don’t you want to get out of here?”

  “Yes, but not to fight. I’m done with it. I’m tired of killing men and having them try to kill me because of the color cloth we wear.”

  “Suit yourself,” the man shrugged. “Some of us are going to find our way back to the captain, or General Morgan, should I say.”