*
It was midnight when Rod regained the house. By then he was exhausted, and if the river water had long dried from his clothes and hair, those clothes had been soaked time and again by the bayous through which he had stumbled and swum, as they had been torn to ribbons by the woods through which he had had to fight his way to regain the comparative safety of the plantation. That he had encountered neither poisonous snake nor ravenous alligator had been pure good fortune, but then it had been pure good fortune that he had managed to reach the shore before the river had debouched into the Gulf. That had been in the delta, and lying amidst the bushes to regain his strength he had witnessed the surrender of the forts on which the Confederates had pinned so much faith. But they, like everything else, had been ill-equipped, in material or morale, to face the Federal juggernaut.
So he had fled, here. He wondered why. Although it was more than a week since he had stormed away from this house, to offer his services — gratefully accepted — to the gunboat captains, his heart and his mind were even more sick now than then, sick with frustration and despair ... and now with guilt as well. If he came back here, he knew what would happen ... and Jerry would know it too. Jerry, who had looked down on him as he had fought for his life in the water. Jerry, who he had at last met in battle, as he had known would be inevitable, and who had so easily proved the victor, again as he had known would be inevitable. But also Jerry, who was on his way to Martine’s. No one could doubt that, or what would happen when he got there.
Something that was unthinkable to a man who had held Marguerite Grahame in his arms.
Jacob opened the door. ‘Mr Rodney?’ He stared at the bedraggled apparition in front of him. ‘But what happened with you, sir?’
‘My ship was sunk,’ Rod said. ‘All the ships were sunk.’
Wilbur Grahame came to the head of the stairs, wearing a brocade dressing-gown. ‘All the ships? The gunboats, you mean? That cannot be possible.’
‘I think two escaped by turning tail,’ Rod said. ‘The rest were blown out of the water. Mine with them. By God, but I am exhausted. Jacob, fetch me a glass of brandy.’ He looked past Wilbur at the women, arriving on the gallery in various stages of deshabille, and amazed dismay. But not at seeing him — he might have left here only last night instead of ten days ago. They were merely concerned at his appearance, and his news.
‘But what of the forts, and the boom?’ Wilbur was asking. ‘TheLouisiana? The Federals cannot possibly have got past all of them.’
‘They smashed the boom, and destroyed the gunboats,’ Jerry said, wearily. ‘The forts have surrendered. You must get yourselves dressed and leave this place, immediately, or you will be Federal prisoners.’
‘Leave Martine’s?’ Antoinette asked, her voice as usual revealing incomprehension of such an idea.
‘Listen to me,’ Rod shouted, and paused to seize the goblet from Jacob’s tray and down the liquid at a gulp. ‘Tomorrow morning the Federal troops will occupy New Orleans. By tomorrow afternoon they will be here.’
They stared at him, quite unable to comprehend the magnitude of the disaster he was outlining.
‘But they have not yet taken New Orleans,’ Wilbur began.
‘The only reason the Federals have not yet taken the city is that they have stopped to regroup. But they will move on tomorrow.’
‘But there are Confederate soldiers defending the city,’ Marguerite protested.
‘There are no Confederate soldiers in New Orleans,’ Rod bawled. ‘They have all fled. There is no defence at all. Even theLouisiana is an abandoned hulk. There is nothing to stop Farragut now.’ He pointed at her. ‘And Jerry is with him.’
‘Jerry?’ Her face was ashen.
‘I saw him, while I was fighting for my life. He is only a few miles away. And tomorrow he will be here. Looking for you.’
Wilbur nodded. ‘Then we must get out of here, as you say. I’m sorry, my dear,’ he told Antoinette. ‘But you cannot stay here to be insulted by rampaging bluebellies. Nor can we risk Marguerite being arrested, or reclaimed by that McGann. We’ll go into town and find Lunis. I told him to have theBelle standing by, just in case ...’
‘TheBelle was requisitioned by the soldiers,’ Rod informed him. ‘She’s probably half way to Natchez by now.’
‘Requisitioned?’ Wilbur shouted. ‘My ship?’
‘Oh, God,’ Claudine wailed. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘You are going to get dressed, and mount horses, and hurry out of here,’ Rod said. ‘You’ll have to travel light. But you’d better bring what cash you have, Wilbur.’
‘I have funds in Natchez,’ Wilbur said.
‘But you can’t go to Natchez any more,’ Rod insisted. ‘Don’t you understand? Farragut isn’t going to stop at New Orleans. He means to take control of the whole river. Right up to Vicksburg, if he can. Certainly Natchez and Baton Rouge don’t have a hope; there’s nothing left to defend them with.’
‘Then whatare we going to do?’ Marguerite asked, her voice quiet, but containing a slight tremble. To have committed treason, to so little purpose, and now to have retribution rushing at her, was a paralysing concept.
‘We must get across the river, and into Mississippi,’ Rod explained. ‘And then go east. Somewhere still under Confederate control.’ He looked at Wilbur.
Who nodded, now full of bustling determination. ‘Mobile. I have business in Mobile, and funds on deposit there too. We’ll make for Mobile.’
‘Mobile?’ Antoinette wailed. ‘But that’s a hundred miles.’
‘So it’ll take us a day or two. But we’ll be getting away from the bluebellies. And we’ll be safe, in Mobile.’
Rod wasn’t too sure about that; Mobile was a seaport, and the Federals had total command of the sea. But anywhere was better than New Orleans, right this minute. ‘So make haste,’ he said. ‘We have to be across the river by dawn.’
They hurried away, and he sent Jacob for another glass of brandy. He had lost all of his clothes, save for the torn uniform in which he stood, when the gunboat had gone down; he had no packing to do.
He watched Marguerite descending the stairs, her dressing-gown and nightdress rustling, her hair fluttering behind her.
‘You came back,’ she said. ‘When you could have got away yourself, you came back.’
‘You’d better get your son,’ he told her. ‘I saw Jerry. He’ll be here within twenty-four hours. Maybe sooner.’
She continued to come down until she had reached the floor. ‘You came back,’ she said again. ‘Was it for Claudine, or ...’ she licked her lips.
‘Oh, it was for you,’ he said. ‘I want you, so very much.’
‘Rod ...’
He looked past her at Jacob, hovering with the silver tray and the crystal goblet. ‘Fetch the boy,’ he said again. ‘And get dressed.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘After what?’ he asked. ‘There isn’t ever going to be an afterwards, Meg. There’s only here and now. And right now, that means a time to run.’ He gave a twisted smile. ‘And try to hide.’
*
It rained, to turn the afternoon into a sodden nightmare. By then, in any event, the going had become exhaustingly difficult. This was partly because they had then been on the road some eighteen hours, partly because Wilbur Grahame had deemed it prudent to leave the main trails and plunge through the forests that fringed the Mississippi coastline. They had reached New Orleans at dawn, and found it a ghost city. Those able to flee had done so. Those unable to flee had barricaded themselves in their houses and were hoping for the best; the town had been surrendered and the Yankee soldiers had been expected at any moment.
That had been a sufficiently compelling reason for continuing their flight with all haste, for any refuge, however temporary, from the bluebellies. What had made their situation absurd, in the circumstances, Rod thought, was that they were accompanied by seventeen slaves, domestics headed by Jacob, without whom Antoinette Grahame would
not consider taking a step from her home, and who had been shocked at the idea that she could consider travelling away from Martine’s without them. The black people, apparently quite contentedly, were running with their owners from the liberating forces of the Federal soldiers. It was merely one more paradox to set beside all the others in this paradoxical war.
But not even the slaves, prepared to do everything resembling physical labour, could keep off the deadening rain, or alleviate the paralysing fatigue that was afflicting the white women. Or himself, Rod realised; he had been undergoing tremendous physical exertion for longer than they.
He urged his horse up beside Wilbur, who was leading the party forlornly through the ghostly, rain-misted trees. ‘We should be safe now,’ he said. ‘I think we should rest for a while.’
‘You reckon? The Federals ...’
‘Will not detach men to follow one group of refugees. They won’t know our identities. Their business is to secure control of the river. And your people are exhausted.’
‘I guess you’re right.’ Wilbur pulled on his reins, and the people behind him stopped without a sound. Antoinette was first in the line, shoulders hunched, cowled cloak drawn close, as if she would shut out the catastrophe which had overtaken her life, together with the elements. The two sisters came next, equally bedraggled and weary; Marguerite had Joe on the saddle in front of her; if he had begun by complaining, now even he was too tired to utter a word. Then came Madame Consuela, followed by the slaves and the mules, carrying what they had been able to assemble in a hurry. There were no other white people; Wilbur Grahame, true to his character, had not even alerted his overseers or his field slaves to what was happening; he had stolen away from his own home like a thief in the night. Now his voice was hoarse as he stood in his stirrups. ‘We’ll camp here,’ he announced.
The slaves got to work immediately. Tents were pitched. Antoinette Grahame complained that hers was damp. Food was prepared. Claudine complained that the coffee was undrinkable. The rain continued to teem down. Rod took his blanket and left the camp, to walk some distance into the trees, then to find himself a reasonably dry patch of ground beneath an overhanging trunk, and settle himself to rest. He was so exhausted he did not suppose that even the rain would keep him awake, or the cold, for the March afternoon was surprisingly chilly. Nor was he prepared to fear any of the wild creatures which might inhabit this wilderness; he was simply too tired. Besides, he had seen enough this last year to realise that the only truly wild creatures on this planet were men.
And women. He watched her come through the trees towards him, still wrapped in her sodden pelisse, but carrying a rolled blanket.
‘Didn’t they pitch a tent for you?’ he asked. ‘What have you done with the boy?’
‘I have left him with his nurse. They also pitched a tent for you and Claudine.’
‘I prefer to be out here.’
She dropped to her knees beside him, and shrugged the hood of the cloak from her head. Her hair was wet. ‘Has nothing changed between you?’
‘A great deal. She is prepared to submit. For a man, that can be an attractive prospect, once, or from a stranger. It is a hideous prospect, from a wife.’
Marguerite spread her blanket on the dry ground beneath the overhanging tree, beside his, and sat on it.
‘She is your sister, and she will know where you have gone,’ Rod pointed out.
‘Had it not been for you, I could have been hanging by now.’
‘I doubt you would. However much you may hate the Yankees, you must admit that hanging women is not one of their pastimes — at least without a fair trial.’
‘I wish I could be sure of that. I would certainly have been facing Jerry.’ She gave a little shiver. ‘I think I would rather be hanged.’
‘So you feel you owe me a favour.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I am not interested in favours. Before we left the house, you said there could only be a here and now, for us. I think you are right. My life ... well, it no longer exists, really. I have lost everything.’
‘Snap.’
‘Well, then, I want what I should have had, years ago.’
‘And if there should be a future, after all?’
‘Then I must face it as best I can. With, or without, you.’
‘Oh, it will be with me, if I am able.’ He held her shoulders and brought her down to him, kissed her mouth. ‘If I am able. Do you like to be touched, Marguerite Grahame?’
‘I long to be touched, by you, Rod Bascom,’ she said.
Thoughts flickered through his mind; of Jerry, so staunch and true, and now so embittered and angry; of Claudine, hardly less embittered and angry, no doubt lying in her tent hating her sister; of the babe, in the arms of his black nurse — what memories, if any, would he carry of this terrible period of his mother’s life?
But not the most sombre of thoughts, nor the peak of exhaustion which held his body in submission, could quell the urgent sexuality which had bubbled to the fore a week ago, and remained unfulfilled, and now he held this most exquisite of women in his arms. His hands surged beneath her gown and petticoat — she had dressed lightly for the journey — gathering them to her waist as her wet hair dripped on to his face. He found his way into her bodice to hold her breasts, a young mother’s breasts, the most delicious solace any man could wish. And the legs he had never seen, but which he knew had to be the most desirable in the world, straddled him, seeming to clasp him between their muscular splendour, and for a moment at least they sought, and found, an escape from the hurtling cataclysm in which they were centred.
*
They rode into Mobile three days after leaving New Orleans. By then the rain had stopped, and the sun was shining, but there was little sunshine in the life of anyone in the Confederacy. New Orleans was lost, and as Rod had predicted, Natchez and Baton Rouge had also surrendered; only the fortress of Vicksburg still flew the Confederate flag, still prevented a total Federal domination of the Mississippi. There was as yet no decision in the titanic struggle which was brewing on the James Peninsula, as McClellan slowly and methodically landed men and munitions on a scale the Confederates could not hope to match, and prepared for his march upon Richmond.
In Mobile, however, there were houses and beds, and friends. Wilbur Grahame had extensive interests here, and he was welcomed, along with his family and his son-in-law. There were hot baths and clean clothes, and warm food to eat. They had indeed found a refuge.
From the Federals. Not from each other. When Rod, having helped Wilbur in making various arrangements, returned to the hotel where they had taken a suite of rooms, he found that Claudine had retired behind a bolted door. That suited him very well; he was only sorry for the additional crisis which seemed to be hovering above this stricken family. But if either Wilbur or Antoinette were aware that Marguerite had shared his blanket for every night of the trek from Martine’s, they gave no evidence of it. While Marguerite herself ... she sat in the sitting-room, feeding Joey from a plate of mush, and looked up with a quick smile as he entered.
‘It’s amazing how quickly one can return to civilised behaviour,’ she remarked.
He sat down and stretched out his legs. ‘Meaning what?’
She made a moue. ‘Not what you think. I meant just cleanliness and comfort.’
‘And sisterly love?’
She sighed. ‘All of us have made mistakes. All four of us, if you count Jerry. You and I at least have the opportunity to rectify that mistake, as regards ourselves.’
‘Do you think Jerry and Claudine will see it that way?’
‘Jerry, of course not. But Claudine ... she doesn’t want you, you know, except for some reason of pride. She doesn’t want to be married at all.’
‘Oh, but she does,’ Rod said. ‘She wants to be married like the heroine of a book, where the most exciting event is three dots.’
‘And you want that?’
‘I hate that. I love you. But I am married to your sister.’
‘Are you serious?’
Her head came up. ‘Yes. Yes, I am serious. Maybe I never realised before just how slender a thread holds us all up. Well, those threads are popping all about us. My God, if we waste one moment of the time we have ...’
‘You’d be an outcast.’
‘I already am an outcast.’ She put down the spoon, seized his hand instead, while Joey watched them with enormous eyes. ‘We are both outcasts. But that doesn’t matter, if we have each other. I am going to follow you wherever you go, whatever the circumstances ... if you’ll let me.’
‘I only wish things could be different ... but that’s a puerile point of view. Things are what they are.’
‘And we will make the most of them,’ she said. ‘You and me. You ...’ she paused, and looked at the door as there came a knock. All the colour drained from her face, as if she had a sixth sense.
Rod opened the door, and a midshipman saluted. ‘Lieutenant Bascom?’
‘I am he.’
‘I have an urgent message for you, from the port captain. He says to tell you that a ship is waiting for you.’
Rod frowned at him. ‘A ship? What sort of ship?’
It was the boy’s turn to look puzzled. ‘You have come to Mobile, sir, in response to instructions from Richmond?’ It was only half a question.
‘I came to Mobile to get the hell out of New Orleans,’ Rod told him. ‘And how the devil did Richmond know where I would be?’
‘The orders were sent to you in New Orleans, sir.’
‘I never received them.’
The boy nodded. ‘The port captain thought that might be the case. Well, then, sir, it is a stroke of fortune that you have arrived here anyway. The port captain has sent a copy of the original order.’ He held it out.
Rod took the sheet of paper: ‘Imperative you report Mobile earliest possible moment to undertake special and secret mission for Government.Take first available passage for Nassau,Bahamas,where further instructions await you.Act without a moment’s delay.The fate of the Confederacy is in your hands.Mallory.’
Iron Ships, Iron Men Page 24