Faith
Page 12
Initially the surgeons, to a man, had resented female nurses, and some had been more than merely rude. But as time had passed, a few like Bryant had come to value them. In any event, the out-and-out rudeness had waned except from those like Dr. Dyson. Dealing with thousands of wounded at a time, the doctors had realized they needed all the help they could get—even from women. Was there any way she could live more at peace with this sour man?
After breakfast outside his tent, Dev tried to focus on the day—not last evening spent in Miss Faith’s company, even if it had just been to help her with a patient. He could not afford to let those sweet moments soften him. With stiff military posture, he strode toward the staging area of the African brigade. Today they were marching to their post, and he wanted to see them off. He’d been told they would merely be guarding a supply depot northwest of here at Milliken’s Bend, right on the Mississippi.
Since they’d received so little military training, this duty came as a relief to him. They wouldn’t be marching into battle and sure death. But a worry nagged at the back of his mind. What if some Rebels tried to take those precious supplies of food and ammunition the new soldiers would be guarding?
Ahead, he saw the African Brigade standing in ranks at attention, and the sight hit him with a familiar haunting sensation he hated. He couldn’t help but think of that term for the common soldier—“cannon fodder.” It was a heartless view of their fate, but one inherent in war. A general had to think not of individual lives sacrificed but of the bigger picture of strategy and winning battles and thus ending this war for all.
But that reality was not reassuring when Dev considered Armstrong’s individual fate. I don’t want him to be a soldier, a pawn in this deadly game of battles and campaigns.
Looking ahead, he recognized the African Brigade’s new commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Lieb. Dev approached the man and they exchanged salutes.
“The general told me you were leaving today for your post,” Dev said, opening the conversation.
“Yes,” Lieb said with his slight accent. Dev had learned that he’d emigrated from Switzerland and settled in Illinois. For a moment, Dev wanted to ask him if, when leaving his native land, he could have foreseen becoming the commanding officer of an African Brigade in a war between the American states. War did make for strange acquaintances. Would Dev himself ever have thought he’d find such pleasure in, of all things, the company of a Quaker lady, an abolitionist, a female nurse?
“I thank you for your work in training these men,” Lieb said.
Dev replied politely, “I was glad to be involved.” He turned to look out over the men. Each face was set with determination and each back was straight with pride. Among the ranks, he glimpsed Carson, who had recently been promoted.
Did they have any idea what they were facing? He recalled his own first battle—the chaos, the panic. His stomach tightened. No words he could say would prepare them, but he wanted them to know he acknowledged their commitment to preserving the Union. But he did not want Armstrong to make the same commitment. How could Dev stop him?
“I’d like to say a few words to the men,” Dev requested, “before the morning barrage begins, if I may.”
“Of course,” Lieb said and stepped back, waving Dev forward.
“Men!” Dev said. “You have done all I asked of you with a determination and eagerness that speaks well of you. It has been an honor to help in your training. I know you will stand and fight.” He found he couldn’t say more, his throat clogged with emotion. So he finished by saluting them smartly.
The brigade returned his salute, almost as one.
Dev shook hands with Lieb, and then the morning barrage blasted to life behind them. Dev turned away and headed toward his regiment and his duties for the day.
After reporting to Osterhaus’s tent for orders, Dev approached his men where they waited after roll call. He gazed at them as he had the African Brigade earlier. He did not like today’s orders, but what did that change? Nothing.
“Men, today we join the digging of the breastwork of trenches around Vicksburg.”
He saw the dismay on their faces, heard a few groans from the rear. They were cavalrymen. But the breastworks provided the troops with cover and, just like the daily barrages, kept up the pressure on the besieged city. “Form ranks and follow me.”
They obeyed, and he led them forward to pick up their shovels. It would be a hot day of hard labor under the unrelenting sun, with the barrage overhead and perilous sniper fire from embattled Vicksburg.
He thought again of walking beside Faith the night before. And reminded himself that she was talking to him now. The tightness in his chest eased.
Dev just had to make sure he didn’t get picked off today by a Reb sniper. Then he could look forward to another evening in her restful yet lively company. Maybe she would have an idea of how to dissuade Armstrong from enlisting. Perhaps she would see matters his way … for once.
After cleaning up from a day of digging, Dev stretched his shoulders. He’d helped on and off to encourage his men, and his muscles would no doubt ache tonight. Fortunately none of his men would suffer anything more than that. They’d come close with that failed attempt to breach the city wall. Though tired, he’d still changed clothing from the skin out. He’d been drenched with sweat from a day in the sun.
Now Dev left his tent and wended his way through the crowded camp toward Faith’s tent. He already knew what she would think about his hesitation over freeing Armstrong. But she hated war, so in light of that, perhaps Armstrong’s intention to enlist would give her sympathy with Dev’s view. And he had to talk about this situation with someone. Perhaps she could help him decide how to persuade Armstrong not to do this. Dev presented himself at Faith’s tent.
She must have been watching for him because she was waiting just inside the entrance. “Colonel, was thee near that awful explosion today?”
His men had not been part of setting off a cache of dynamite in a forward tunnel, a plan intended to break into the city. They had, however, been forced to drop their shovels and pick up their rifles after the failed attempt.
“Unfortunately I was nearby,” he said. “My ears are still ringing. My men had to help retrieve the soldiers pinned down by sniper fire after the explosion.” He offered her his arm. “I’ve come to escort you to the general’s tent if you—”
“Yes, I must go so Honoree can eat supper and get some rest.” Faith set her bonnet over her cap and braided hair, tied the bonnet’s ribbons, and accepted his offer.
Leading her away, he groped around his mind for a means of introducing the topic foremost in his thoughts. “Some of the new recruits were in the thick of things today. They don’t get enough training to suit me.” He considered the African Brigade and how little they’d received. God help them if they were attacked. If Armstrong enlisted, that’s exactly what would happen to him. The thought sat like a load of lead shot in Dev’s belly.
“Why did thee choose to become a soldier?” she asked, surprising him as they approached a surviving copse of pines.
He looked at her askance. He didn’t want to discuss himself and his decision to be a soldier. It was Armstrong he worried about. But he swallowed this objection. One of the main reasons he enjoyed this woman’s company was her unexpected depths.
“I saw it as my only option,” Dev said, choosing his words with care. “My mother left her family’s plantation and married a Baltimore businessman.” He guided her around a group of men sitting together on the ground, playing cards.
Faith nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“So as a gentleman without land, I could either pursue law or go into business like my father. I had no interest in those vocations. That left the military.” He led her forward, wishing they weren’t heading toward a night of nursing, wishing instead for a quiet place for just the two of them.
“So thee didn’t dream of being a soldier, a colonel? Thee came to it by default.”
When he’d secured a place at West Point, he’d known he would become a fighting man, an officer who commanded others, but in this war leading men to their deaths was becoming harder with every battle. He thought of Grant, who threw men into battle with a ferocity that stunned the enemy. Stunned Dev.
“What is thee thinking?” she asked. Someone began playing a harmonica nearby.
No one ever asked him this. He was just given orders, and as expected, he followed them. But at her question, his reflections poured out. “War has changed. The weaponry is so much more accurate now.” More deadly. He looked into her large green eyes. “Marching into battle in close order is …” He paused, not wanting to be overheard criticizing General Grant.
“Is responsible for the high casualties we experience?” Faith finished for him.
He let her precede him through a group of men going in the opposite direction. They were nearing the general’s tent.
“Yes,” he replied, lowering his voice close to her ear. “Muskets were so inaccurate and only lethal at such a short range that if one were wounded or killed, it was practically by chance.” He stopped, not wanting to bore her with details. She was a lady, after all. What lady was interested in weaponry?
Faith brushed away a flurry of gnats in front of her face. “Dr. Bryant also served in the Mexican War as an army surgeon. He once or twice has mentioned that more accurate rifles mean more wounded and more battle deaths.”
They had reached the general’s tent. Their confidences were at an end, and he’d still not been able to broach the subject of Armstrong’s enlisting.
The general was not there. They greeted Honoree, who spoke to Faith about what she’d done for their patient during the day. Then, with an unhappy glance toward Dev, Honoree left. They entered the tent.
Faith felt Fred’s forehead. “Thee is still feverish.”
“I’m—” Fred twisted his face—“some better.”
“That is all to the good,” Faith replied. “I’m sure Dr. Bryant will check on thee tonight before he turns in.”
Dev felt unnecessary now, but he couldn’t make himself leave.
General Grant entered.
Dev snapped to attention and was put at ease.
“Miss Cathwell,” the general said, “Dr. Bryant tells me Fred is making progress.”
“Yes, General,” Faith said. “He still has a fever and symptoms, but I think thy quick action has saved Fred from the worst of the dysentery.”
“Good. Good.” Grant drew near to his son and began talking to the boy. Faith led Dev outside to give father and son some privacy.
Outside, Dev tried to induce himself to leave Faith and still found he couldn’t. He blurted, “Armstrong intends to enlist.”
Faith nodded. “I know. Honoree told me. I didn’t know Armstrong had mentioned it to thee.”
Dev steered her toward an open area between tents, wishing they could find somewhere to be alone. “He didn’t. I overheard him telling Honoree,” Dev admitted. “I can’t stand by and let him do this. He could be killed.” The last sentence forced its way through his lips.
Looking back at the general’s tent, Faith considered him. “Just as thee could be killed. Thee chose the military. Armstrong will choose it too. That’s what freedom means—making thy own decisions. Didn’t thee know that?”
Dev reeled from her calmly spoken words. He wanted Armstrong free, but he wanted him alive, safe.
She drew a small woven palm fan from her apron pocket and began waving it in front of her face to stir the heavy, hot air. “Colonel, why did thee promise to free Armstrong on his fortieth birthday?”
Why had she asked him that? Voices hummed around them. Now and then a word or phrase lifted above the constant buzz. Dev felt torn, affronted by her series of questions. But he wouldn’t endanger their detente. Only the truth would satisfy this woman.
“I made that promise when we were both very young,” Dev said. “It seemed a fair way to solve the problem presented when my uncle gave him to me as a gift.” Dev sucked in the humid evening air. “My mother is not an abolitionist per se, but she left the plantation because she didn’t approve of slavery. My uncle inherited the plantation and the slaves. Mother and I never owned slaves.”
“Except for Armstrong,” she commented, fanning herself. “So thy mother and thy uncle were at odds over slavery?”
“Yes.”
“Did thee ever question why thy uncle would give thee a slave as a gift, knowing that thy mother disapproved?”
Dev did not want to follow this line of discussion. He had lost his own father, and Uncle Kane had been good to him. And somehow Jack’s rivalry with Dev was tangled up in this complicated family history too.
Faith didn’t press him. “What will thee do when Armstrong turns forty?” She continued fanning her face, watching him.
“I’m not sure. I’ve always given him a Christmas gift that equaled a year’s wages so he would have funds saved up for a house or whatever he wanted. I thought that once I freed him, the only change would be paying him monthly.”
General Grant took them by surprise when he cleared his throat. “Sorry to intrude. But I must go out again.” He gazed at Dev and Faith. “I couldn’t help but overhear what you were speaking about. Are you intending to free your manservant, Colonel Knight?”
Dev felt his face heat. “Yes, sir.”
Grant nodded. “You know my wife’s family was originally from a slave state, Maryland, before moving to Missouri in 1816. In the decade before the war, I managed my father-in-law’s plantation, White Haven, and the slaves who worked there. But when I myself was given a slave in 1857, I freed him two years later. What’s holding you back?”
This confrontation from an old comrade who was now his commanding officer embarrassed Dev. “Sir, how could I foresee that his fortieth birthday, the day I promised to free him, would fall in the midst of a war more bloody than I could have imagined?”
“Thee couldn’t, of course,” Faith chimed in. She looked to the general. “His manservant plans to enlist.”
“I see.” Grant shook his head slowly at Dev as if comprehending the dilemma. “But we need every man we can get.” He turned to Faith. “I must deal with some official correspondence. Miss Cathwell, will you please return to my son? Again, I only wish I could repay your and Honoree’s careful nursing. I am in your debt.”
“Honoree and I are happy to do what we can, General.” Faith took Dev back into the general’s tent, where she once more examined her patient, who’d fallen asleep. Dev then ushered her to the camp stools outside.
Dev leaned close to Faith and said, “I don’t want Armstrong to throw his life away.” A bark of laughter from a nearby tent punctuated his statement.
“I don’t want thee to throw thy life away either,” she said, gazing directly at him. “Thee knows well that I don’t believe in war. The incredible waste of lives …” She threw a hand up. “I think the whole world must be insane. The South is steadily being destroyed and stripped of its men.” Her tone rose, agitated. “The wealth they are trying to protect will not survive this war. What is the point?”
He felt himself breathing quickly as though he’d been running and realized that he must appear as agitated as she. He couldn’t argue with anything she’d said. “There should have been a way to settle the issue of slavery without this war.” He could think of nothing else to contribute.
“There should have been. The South blames abolitionists like my family, like me, but even if we’d never helped one runaway slave to freedom, a house divided against itself cannot stand. Our president was right—and only quoting Christ.”
Dev didn’t like where this conversation was going.
Faith began fanning herself once more. “Even if the North had let the South secede without resorting to war, slaves would have continued escaping to the North. The same tensions between s
lave and free states would have escalated. Don’t they realize that the secession would only have led to a continuous border war?”
Everything she said was true. He’d never met a woman as intelligent and forthright. She left him with nothing to say.
“Tell me more about thy library,” she said abruptly, once again startling him. “And what bookshop does thee most love to browse?”
He was grateful for the sudden switching of topics, welcoming the chance to discuss something besides the mayhem all around them. “There’s this little bookshop on Saratoga Street in Baltimore.”
Yet even as he described this shop and its offerings, he could not escape his thoughts. Armstrong had served him through two wars. He’d seen the cost of combat. And now he enjoyed the prospect of a wife and family. What had possessed him to want to end up in the line of fire?
Realizing he had trailed off, he turned the conversation to Faith. “Now tell me what herbs you would like to add to your garden.”
He wished he hadn’t overheard Armstrong telling Honoree of his plans. But if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.
MILLIKEN’S BEND, LOUISIANA
JUNE 7, 1863
To keep track of enemy movements, Dev and a few of his cavalry companies had been sent to rove over the territory north of Vicksburg. Some Rebel troops in addition to the raiders still remained outside the city, and it was suspected they might make trouble. Since Dev and his men were heading north today, he would get the chance to check on the African Brigade at Milliken’s Bend, right on the Louisiana side of the river. They’d been in his thoughts.
General Grant’s son had recovered almost completely from his bout with dysentery. Grant had urged Dev not to forget to take Miss Cathwell to that plantation soon. But his regular duties had kept him too busy.
A private galloped toward him. “Rebs ahead, sir!”
Almost simultaneously rapid gunfire sounded in the distance. “Proceed with caution!” Dev ordered. “Fire at will! Spread the word!”