A Call to Arms

by P. G. Nagle

She found the adjutant at his desk in a nearby tent. He smiled as she came in.

  “Thompson! Welcome back.”

  “Thank you. Colonel Poe wants you.”

  “I am his, then. One moment.”

  He blotted the page he’d been writing, covered it with a ledger, then rose and returned to Colonel Poe’s tent with Emma. The Colonel was pacing thoughtfully, but stopped and looked up as they entered.

  “It’s come,” he said. “Call the brigade staff in here, if you would, Thompson. Reid, you know what to do.”

  Reid grinned, glanced sidelong at Emma, and left. Emma hastened to do the colonel’s bidding, wondering what was afoot.

  When she had gathered all the brigade staff who could be found, they more than filled the back half of the large wall tent that served as Poe’s office. His aide-de-camp opened the canvas that divided the front reception area from the office, and still the staff was crammed in shoulder to shoulder. Emma took up a place near the door to await events.

  Colonel Poe stood talking to the brigade quartermaster, but glanced up as Reid came in carrying a large basket. He was followed by an orderly burdened with a crate that clanked of glass. Both were set on the colonel’s desk, and Reid proceeded to open the crate, which contained a dozen bottles of champagne.

  The orderly took wine glasses out of the basket and arrayed them on the desk, and Reid stood ready to open the first bottle. Colonel Poe stepped forward, a document in hand. Emma recognized it as the letter she had carried.

  “Gentlemen, I have just received notice from Washington. President Lincoln has nominated me Brigadier General.”

  A burst of exclamation followed, punctuated by the popping of a cork, which thumped against the canvas roof. Colonel Poe—General Poe, now—shook hands with all his staff, and the champagne flowed free. Emma took a glass, but spent more time watching all the others than drinking. Everyone was discussing the promotion in tones of excitement and anticipation. General Poe would accomplish great things, his staff all told one another.

  By the time the impromptu celebration began to break up, dark had fallen and Emma’s stomach was growling for supper. She set her half-finished glass of champagne on the desk alongside the crate of now-empty bottles, and finally had opportunity to congratulate the new general.

  “Thank you, Thompson,” Poe said, beaming as he shook her hand. “You may expect more good news in the near future.”

  “Good news is always welcome,” Emma replied, wondering if the Colonel had picked up Reid’s habit of cryptic utterances. “I am sure we can only benefit by your advancement.”

  “Some more than others,” Reid said, coming up to join them. He winked at Emma and received a slap on the back from General Poe.

  “Join me for dinner,” Poe said. “We have much to discuss. You, too, Thompson,” he added, nodding to Emma.

  “Oh—thank you, sir, but I have the mail—”

  “The mail, ah yes. It can wait an hour. I want to talk to you.”

  Mystified, Emma accompanied Poe and Reid to dinner along with a half-dozen officers of the brigade. The meal was quite good, prepared by Poe’s favorite cook who had been with him ever since Williamsburg, and was accompanied by yet more champagne.

  Being the only private at the table, Emma felt somewhat cowed and took little part in the conversation, most of which revolved around the brigade’s readiness for the battle that would take place if ever Burnside’s pontoon bridges were built. Various officers who were not present were discussed, their merits compared, their likely performance in battle judged. Emma felt as if she did not belong in such a meeting, and waited for the meal to end so that she could escape.

  “Now, then, Thompson,” the General said, turning toward her as the dessert was being served. “I need a new postmaster for the brigade, and I think you are suited to the position. What say you?”

  Caught off guard, Emma dropped her fork with a clatter. “P-postmaster?”

  “Yes. And mail carrier, you would have that to do as well. Do you think you can handle all the brigade’s mail?”

  Poe looked at her with one eyebrow slightly raised. Emma swallowed and straightened her shoulders.

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “Excellent. Reid will write up the order.”

  Emma glanced across the table at Reid, who smiled with conspiratorial warmth. “Congratulations,” he said softly.

  Near Falmouth, Virginia, 1862

  Emma felt her cheeks grow warm, and busied herself with cutting the piece of pie set before her into ever-smaller bits. Already the general had moved on to some other topic. A lively discussion was taking place, but Emma never heard a word of it.

  Postmaster and mail carrier for the entire brigade! It was quite a jump in responsibility. She knew she could handle the work, but was still a bit breathless at the sudden change.

  When the dessert was cleared and brandy and cigars came out, Emma excused herself on the grounds of the Second’s mail, still waiting for delivery. General Poe waved her off with a friendly smile, and Lieutenant Reid accompanied her outside, pausing beneath the awning over the tent’s entrance. Rain pattered on the canvas, and a chill breeze made Emma pull her greatcoat closer around herself.

  “Congratulations again, Frank.”

  “Thank you. I hardly know what to think!”

  “Oh, you’ve earned it, be sure. The colonel—the general, I mean—likes to have efficient men around him.” Reid smiled lazily, and added, “You’ll have to reside at headquarters, you know.”

  “Oh—I hadn’t realized.”

  “You may share my tent, if you like. I have plenty of room.”

  Emma stared at Reid, surprised and discomfited by the invitation. She would have to live someplace, and she knew no one else at headquarters any better than him. Fear tightened her shoulders, but she did not know how to refuse—could not form a plausible reason to refuse—and a part of her was actually glad of the prospect.

  “Thank you, that is very kind of you.”

  “Not at all.” Reid’s smile flashed. “I enjoy your company. Bring your traps up tomorrow. General Poe will expect you to assume your new post at once, though I must warn you, the order may take a few days. We are rather swamped at present.”

  Emma bade him goodnight, musing as she rode back to the Second’s camp. She could scarcely believe the change in her fortunes, even now.

  In the drizzling rain she delivered the mail to men who scurried out of their warm tents as she arrived, stood shivering as she called their names, and scurried back again just as quick, letters or packages tucked beneath their coats. She smiled at them fondly as she handed out these treasures, thinking of this as a leave-taking, though she would still be delivering mail to the Second. She would still see these men, but she would no longer be living among them.

  When her satchels were empty she saw to her horse’s needs, then returned to F Company’s street and her own tent. Halsted was there, sitting by the stove and reading a newspaper by the light of a candle.

  “Evening, Frank,” he said. “Welcome home.”

  “Thank you. Where are Robert and Sam?”

  “Picket duty.”

  Emma sat on her bed and gazed around the tent. She should pack up her traps, she supposed, not that it would take long. She could make everything she owned ready for travel in five minutes.

  She pulled off her boots, sighing at the ache in her left leg. Stretching it out before her, she drew up the other and rested her chin on her knee, watching Halsted. After a few minutes he folded the paper and looked up at her.

  “How was Washington?”

  “Buzzing with anticipation.”

  “Hm. They’re in for a disappointment. Lee’s got the jump on us. He has guns all over the heights, did you see?”

  “Yes.”

  “No point in even building the pontoons now.”

  Emma made no comment. From what she had heard at headquarters, Burnside’s plans were moving forward, regardless of Lee’s guns.<
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  “I’ve received a promotion.”

  Halsted raised his head, looking surprised. “Corporal?”

  “No, no—but, postmaster. For the brigade.”

  “Whew! The whole brigade? We’ll never see you!”

  Emma smiled. “I’m afraid you are right. I have to move up to headquarters.”

  Halsted gazed at her for a long moment, his brow creased with concern. “Will you be all right?”

  “Yes. Thank you—I shall never forget the help you gave me when I needed it most.”

  “Well ... well. Good luck to you, then. We’ll miss you.”

  “And I you. But you will see me. I’ll still deliver the mail.”

  Halsted shook his head, chuckling. “The precious mail.”

  Emma smiled, then crawled beneath her blankets, letting the exhaustion of a long and surprising day carry her to sleep. The last thought in her mind was of letters, stacks of letters like mountains, all sliding into each other.

  In the morning she packed up her kit and brought Ben down to camp. She was strapping her bedroll to his saddle when Bostwick and Houlton arrived, bleary-eyed, from picket duty.

  “What’s this?” said Bostwick. “Are we marching?”

  Halsted came out of the tent. “No, Frank’s leaving us. He’s going to live with the shoulder straps up at headquarters.”

  Laughing, Emma explained her promotion. Her tentmates expressed dismay, congratulated her, and abused her as a traitor almost in the same breath. She shook hands with all of them and promised to remember them.

  “God bless you all,” she told them, feeling a sudden threat of tears.

  “You take care of yourself, Frank,” said Houlton. “We’ll miss you.”

  “Here—wait a moment.” She tugged at the strap on a saddlebag and dug inside for the small leather box of watches. She opened it and held it out. “Pick one, each of you.”

  “Frank, no,” said Bostwick.

  “Yes, yes! I doubt I’ll have time to be selling them anyway. Please take one.”

  They each chose a watch, and amid thanks and well-wishes she mounted and left them, feeling she was leaving a part of her life behind. She rode through the Second’s camp—her camp no longer—and up the long hill to brigade headquarters. On the way she passed Chaplain Brown and paused to greet him.

  “Hello, Frank! We have not seen you at a meeting in some while.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I have been sent to Washington so often—”

  “Is that where you are going now?” He glanced toward her traps strapped to her saddle.

  “No, I’m moving to headquarters. General Poe has made me postmaster for the brigade.”

  The chaplain’s brows rose. “Has he indeed? Well, congratulations. I hope you will not forget your friends when you are dwelling among the exalted.”

  Emma laughed. “No. I’ll come to a meeting soon, I promise.”

  When she reached headquarters she found that Reid was away. She went to his tent, from which he was also absent. Emma had visited him here a number of times, but now that she was to live here she saw it with new eyes. She stood in the doorway, afraid to set her belongings inside.

  It was an officer’s tent, much larger than those given the enlisted men, furnished with a small camp table and two folding chairs in addition to the stove. Reid’s cot looked hastily made. A large chest stood at its foot, with a spare blanket draped over it. Clothing hung from a row of pegs suspended from the ridge pole, and a pair of shelves made from boards and bricks stood along one wall, filled with mess kit, several glasses, a half-dozen bottles of wine, one of brandy, and an assortment of knick-knacks.

  Reid had more space than Emma and her three tentmates had shared, yet she hesitated to claim any of it. She could not shake the feeling that she was an intruder. At last she piled her belongings in a heap in the front corner of the tent and left to report to headquarters.

  General Poe could not see her at once, she was informed by his aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Keller. She sat kicking her heels for a time in the outer office, finally succumbing enough to boredom to ask Keller if she could help him with any of his work. He seemed to resent the offer.

  She was on the point of giving up and going to see if more mail for the Second had arrived. At least she might keep herself occupied with that, but as she stood up General Poe summoned her into his office.

  “Good morning, Thompson. All settled in are you? Good. Go on up to division headquarters, ask the quartermaster there if our new flagstaffs have arrived, and see what newspapers you can find—the steamer captains often have the latest issues—then fetch down the mail. You’ll deliver our headquarters mail first, of course, then you can deliver to the regiments. Oh, and take this with you.”

  He handed Emma a pouch fat with messages. She nodded, swallowing. In less than a minute he had assigned her more work than she usually did in a week.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  Poe raised a brow at her and smiled. “No, that will do. Be sure to take a pack mule along—you cannot bring all the mail on your horse. You will find a string of animals picketed by the creek, tell Dodd I sent you to choose one. And step in here when you get back.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Emma hastened away to retrieve Ben and claim a mule. Division headquarters was in Falmouth town, and as she rode along its streets she could see the Confederate pickets in Fredericksburg across the river, close enough to throw stones in some places. Cannon frowned over the town from the heights beyond. Emma found herself in agreement with Halsted; it was not even worth attempting to assail such a fortified stronghold.

  She completed the errands Poe had given her and returned with her pack mule burdened with mail—four large sacks, which she spent the better part of the day sorting, resulting in a large sack for each regiment and another nearly as large for brigade headquarters. Having nowhere else to sort, she made use of the table in Lieutenant Reid’s tent to organize the mail, then hastened to General Poe’s office with a satchel full of the headquarters mail over her shoulder.

  “He can’t see you, he’s with the chief of ordnance,” said Keller. “Is that the mail?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll take ours.”

  Emma handed him the stack addressed to “Headquarters, First Brigade, First Division,” but kept back the correspondence addressed to Poe. The ADC glanced at the letters and held out his hand.

  “I’ll take the general’s mail as well.”

  “He asked me to see him when I returned.”

  “Very well, but you’ll have to wait. Might as well make your deliveries meanwhile.”

  Emma saw the sense in this. With a glance toward Poe’s inner sanctum, she left, conveniently forgetting to hand over the general’s letters.

  She set out to make the rounds of all the offices at headquarters, and made a number of new acquaintances along the way. By the end of an hour she had learned a great deal about the organization and staff of the brigade, and returned to Poe’s office weary from walking.

  “He’s with the adjutant,” said Keller when Emma came in.

  She was about to sit down and stretch out her leg when Reid poked his head around the doorway. “That you, Thompson? I thought so. Come on in.”

  General Poe glanced up from his desk, a stack of reports in one hand. “Ah, good. Did you find yesterday’s papers?”

  “And one from this morning, sir. There was a packet just come in.” Emma took three newspapers from her satchel, along with the general’s mail. “These are your letters, sir. Should I leave them with your aide if you are busy?”

  “Anything that isn’t marked ‘Urgent.’ Those and any mail from division headquarters or Washington you must put straight into my hands.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What about the flagstaffs?”

  “Not yet arrived, sir.”

  “Hmph.”

  She waited while he sorted through the letters, handing several of them to Reid. The
adjutant grinned at Emma.

  “Not yet drowning?”

  Emma smiled. “Not quite. I have left rather a large heap of mail in your tent, though.”

  Reid burst out laughing. “Why, thank you!”

  “You have your own office for that,” Poe said, glancing up with a frown. “Didn’t Keller tell you?”

  “No, sir, but then I didn’t ask.”

  Poe shook his head, grumbling. “Get him to show you the postmaster’s tent. It’s over by the quartermaster depot.”

  “I’ll show him,” Reid offered, standing up. “I need to have a word with the quartermaster anyway.”

  “And send Keller in here on your way,” said Poe, frowning at a letter he had opened.

  Thus dismissed, they left at once, Reid tucking the letters the general had given him into his pocket. He glanced sidelong at Emma as they left the tent and strode across the camp toward the depot.

  “Keller was friends with the last postmaster,” Reid said. “Don’t let him give you trouble.”

  “Oh. Thank you, I won’t.”

  “There’s a certain amount of maneuvering that occurs at headquarters.”

  Emma chuckled. “I don’t think there is an organization anywhere that is free of maneuvering.”

  “No? But you will find more of it the closer to Washington you get, and that includes the army.”

  “I beg to dispute. I am informed on certain authority that quite the most desperate political machinations in the world take place within the Ladies’ Christian Circle of Flint, Michigan.”

  Reid laughed. “And who is your informant?”

  “Miss Daphne Little, who is a member in good standing.”

  “Dear me, a young lady correspondent? Frank, you dog! You’ve never mentioned her.”

  Emma looked at him with an innocent expression she knew would be disbelieved. “We are merely friends.”

  Reid laughed again, louder. “Now I know why you enjoy the mail service. You must comb each batch of letters for one in Miss Little’s hand!”

  Emma laughed, and protested. They were both still laughing when they reached the depot.

  “Here, this is your office.”

  Reid pointed out a small wall tent alongside the larger tents of the depot. Emma looked inside and exclaimed at the several full mail sacks lying on a long table inside.