Savannah

by John Jakes

  Isaiah planted himself in front of Zip’s chained legs. “That true, boy?”

  Zip shook his head.

  “You deny you know your would-be rescuers?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Ralf said, “He lying to you, boss.”

  “Hear that, Zip? One of your fellow recruits insists you aren’t being square with me. Perhaps we should test your veracity.”

  Zip glared at Ralf. Isaiah motioned the tall Negro to his side. “Make amends for your blundering, Gabriel.”

  “Yes sir, boss, how can I do that?”

  “Persuade this nigger to be more candid.” Isaiah put a finger to his chin, striking a pose suited to a stage actor conveying deep thought. “Start by breaking his fingers. Left hand first, I’d say. One finger at a time.”

  “Ought to work,” Gabriel said eagerly, kneeling. Gabriel seized Zip’s left hand. Isaiah tossed him a dark blue kerchief. “Stuff that in his craw. We don’t want a lot of caterwauling.”

  Zip tried to scoot away, his leg chain clinking. The white henchman ran behind him and hooked an elbow around his neck. Gabriel seized Zip’s left hand, said, “Hold his mouth open.”

  The other man reached for Zip’s jaw with his free hand. Zip bit his thumb. The white man squealed.

  Isaiah purpled the air with oaths. He booted Zip’s ribs. With Zip groggy, stuffing the kerchief between his teeth proved no problem.

  “Proceed, Gabriel. You can break all his fingers if need be. Just make him talk.”

  Gabriel bent Zip’s little finger backwards. The bitten man forcibly restrained Zip’s other hand to prevent further interference. Zip’s cheeks popped with sweat. Gabriel bent the finger more. Zip unsuccessfully stifled a moan. Isaiah said, “That’s the ticket.”

  Furious pounding on the river door diverted the torturers. The door shook alarmingly, although a large horizontal beam held in two iron brackets prevented it from being opened.

  A greasy window broke, showering glass into the warehouse. The barrel of an 1861 model Springfield rifle appeared, behind it a boyish face and blue forage cap. Other voices demanded entrance.

  Isaiah Fleeg believed in bold play when he held high cards, but Savannah, this miserable putrid backwater of the decadent and disloyal South, had dealt him deuces and treys. He snatched his hideout pistol from his overcoat pocket. “Leave the niggers. Every man for himself.” He fired at the thick door.

  Isaiah’s bullet failed to pierce the door, which fell inward suddenly, hinges broken and the bar snapped in two by a log ram in the hands of soldiers. Isaiah saw torches streaming and smoking in the dark, enough of them to suggest an entire regiment come to thwart him. A bearded man wearing a long blue coat without insignia leaped into the room.

  Isaiah’s response was to shoot again, without careful aim, then dash for the stairs. Nehemiah stuck out his foot, but Isaiah dodged. He scrambled up two, four, six steps. Yankees spilled into the warehouse, bayonets flashing, torches fizzing. The bearded man ran halfway to the stair and shouldered a regulation Colt Army .44 revolver mounted to a glossy stock.

  “You on the stairs. This piece is cocked. Throw down your weapon or you’ll be dead meat for breakfast.”

  Isaiah whipped around and fired at the bearded man, who fired almost simultaneously. Splinters flew up between the soldier’s shabby shoes. Isaiah’s soft hat blew off, the left brim pierced. A burly sergeant shouted, “You boob, you attacked General Sherman. That’s a hanging offense.”

  “Let him be, Sergeant. He’s in my sights. One more twitch, and I’ll drill him between the eyes.”

  Isaiah peered at the flint-eyed soldier; his courage, never in large supply, ran out faster than sand from an hourglass pulverized by a coffee mill gun. The hideout pistol fell from his fingers. He raised his hands. Sherman signaled the sergeant.

  “Chain him. Don’t bother to be gentle about it.”

  A moppet with golden curls appeared behind the general. “See your gentleman in here, missy?” he asked, never letting his eyes stray from Isaiah.

  Hattie pointed. “Right there, Mr. General.”

  “A good night’s work, then.”

  Hattie hugged Zip. Sherman’s men dragged Isaiah off the stairs. Others subdued his hirelings, neither of whom was anxious to fight. A corporal searching Gabriel discovered a ring of keys. He freed Zip from his leg irons and Nehemiah from his manacles. No one bothered with Ralf, who continued to hide his face in his hands and sob. “You a disgrace to your race,” Zip said to him.

  Legrand, largely relegated to inaction in the background, marveled at the remarkable scene. W. T. Sherman took his .44 off cock and grounded the stock next to his leg. Hattie, still with her arms around Zip, cried almost as noisily as the humiliated Ralf.

  A pot of white rice and black-eyed peas simmered on Vee’s iron stove. Adam had waited three hours at the military store to bring home extra peas and rice so the household could enjoy hopping John at New Year’s. The dish supposedly generated good luck, which might include a resumption of peace.

  A desiccated wedge of red pepper and a large Georgia onion lay on the chopping block, to be diced and added to the pot along with a skilletful of country bacon; Zip had found the bacon without saying precisely how or where. Amelia avoided the kitchen, as if porcine instinct told her of a less fortunate pig making the ultimate sacrifice for the meal.

  Winks was out of bed, dressed in freshly laundered clothes and resting in the parlor. His hair dangled over his shoulders, badly in need of attention. His luxuriant beard, untouched by a razor for days, gave him the look of one of the war’s more patriarchal generals. At three o’clock, Vee paid another of her frequent visits to check on him.

  “How are we feeling today, Alpheus?”

  “I don’t know who else is here, but I’m feeling pretty fair. Yesterday the surgeon said I could be rid of this sling in another week.”

  “And follow your regiment then?”

  “Not just yet. Can’t fire a gun with a hope of hitting anything.” To demonstrate, he flexed the fingers of his right hand, albeit with difficulty. “Whatever’s cooking in the kitchen smells good.”

  “Hopping John. A Southern specialty. It wards off evil spirits. Tell me, Alpheus—if you don’t march to Carolina, where will you go?”

  “Back to Indiana, I expect.”

  Her eyelids fluttered, a possible sign of dismay.

  “I seen the elephant, Miss Vee. I don’t need to see him again. With my poor brothers laid to rest, I don’t suppose Mama can run the farm alone.” He coughed and fiddled with the coverlet on his knees. “Now, I would say we’re friends, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, I would agree with that.”

  “So, friend to friend, I can tell you something that’s been on my mind ever since Christmas?”

  “What is that, Alpheus?”

  More fiddling. “Um—well—when the war’s over, the trains’ll run again. You could come visit.”

  “Indiana?”

  “Putnam County’s mighty pretty in the spring and fall. Pretty when it snows, too, though if I don’t see another blizzard till I’m ninety, that’s fine.”

  The redness in her round cheeks grew brighter. “I’ve never been north. I’ve never been out of Georgia except for trips to Charleston when I was a girl. Wouldn’t I stick out?”

  “Why, I don’t believe so, not when the country’s put back together. Fact is, I think you’d be right at home. Lots of people say Indiana’s the most Southern of all the states. We could arrange it so you could stay awhile if you liked. I’ve got friends who’d put you up in a nice spare room, all legal and proper.”

  “That’s a tempting offer. My students have deserted me, so I needn’t worry about their lessons.”

  “Once life’s back to normal, there’s sure to be a call for piano lessons in Putnam County. It’s not the backwoods, y’know.”

  Vee’s eyes danced. “I could give my piano a good home at Silverglass. If Sara’s captain comes here again, he could si
t down and play.”

  “It all sounds mighty fine,” Winks agreed, though he couldn’t be sure whether she meant yes, she’d visit, or no, she wouldn’t. To spare her embarrassment, he shook his injured hand in the general direction of a folded news clipping she carried in a nonchalant way, as though she didn’t have it. “Say, what might that be?”

  Fresh color filled her cheeks. “Just an old poem from the Savannah Republican. Last year I copied out a stanza I liked, and this morning I chanced across it in my bureau.”

  Winks detected an obvious shading of the truth but didn’t call attention to it. He leaned back in his rocker. “Suppose I could hear it?”

  From the pocket of her skirt she pulled pince-nez reading glasses which she fitted on her nose. Avoiding eye contact, she read to him:

  War is ruled by men,

  Love’s ruled by the fair.

  War needs many soldiers,

  Love needs but a pair.

  War makes foes,

  Love makes friends.

  War’s soon over,

  Love—

  She muffled the concluding words.

  Winks leaned forward. “Could I have that again?”

  She drew a long breath, as though poised on a rock for a dive into a deep pool. “‘War’s soon over, love—never ends.’ Oh, I think they called me in the kitchen.”

  “Miss Vee.” His voice held her at the door. “Will you come visit?”

  A prolonged silence followed the exchange. Then she whispered, “I will.”

  Winks and Vee shared a moment of perfect understanding before she floated away to the kitchen in an unfamiliar state of bliss.

  Thirty minutes later, Stephen climbed the front steps and knocked. Sara admitted him, took his hat. “What a surprise, Captain.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting. I wanted to extend New Year’s greetings to the household. And I surely would like permission to play the piano a little.”

  “I don’t believe Vee would object. I’ll tell her you’re here. Meanwhile, why don’t you sit and play?”

  After a few practice arpeggios, he began “Tenting Tonight.” Sara returned, without Vee; Adam said she was visiting the necessary. Stephen sang the ballad in a pleasing baritone.

  Many are the hearts that are weary tonight,

  Waiting for the war to cease;

  Many are the hearts looking for the right

  To see the dawn of peace.

  Sara was touched and overcome by the sentimental song. Hattie appeared, Amelia cradled in her arms. Stephen didn’t see Hattie as he lifted his hands from the keyboard and swung around on the iron-braced bench to face Hattie’s mother.

  “The new year seems an auspicious time to say this to you. My heart is one of those the song describes. Has been since the hour we met. When we’re all Americans again, I’d like permission to come back and call on you. One day I’d like to show you the lights of New York. It isn’t as backw—quiet as Savannah, but neither is it entirely a den of iniquity. Yankees are not all horned devils. I hope you’ll let me return and extend an invitation.”

  Stunned, Sara found it impossible to answer.

  He took it as rejection. He reached behind him, closed the cover on the keys. He strode to the table where Sara had placed his hat. He bowed. “Well, ma’am—good day. And happy New Year too.”

  His footfalls faded rapidly on the outer stair.

  Sara slipped into a chair, bowed her head. Hattie set Amelia on the floor.

  “Mama, you know that captain likes you. Papa’s been gone a long time. We all miss him, but I think you should let the captain call on you.”

  “I thought you despised Yankees.”

  “As a class I guess I still do. But I suppose we must take them one at a time now. Wouldn’t you like to see New York City?”

  Sara vigorously wiped her eyes. “I might. However, I don’t know where the captain is quartered, and I certainly won’t chase through the streets like some ill-bred hussy, trying to locate him.”

  Hattie beamed. “Oh, Zip will do that, Mama. I already asked him.”

  They sat down to supper at five. Scarcely had Vee offered the blessing and passed the corn bread she’d baked with ingredients from the military store, than a clatter on the outside stair announced one more visitor. “Maybe the captain came back,” Vee said as she went to answer the knock.

  But he hadn’t; a caped lieutenant stood there. “Beg pardon, ma’am. I am looking for a Miss Lester.”

  “I am Miss Rohrschamp. Do you want Miss or Mrs. Lester?”

  “The former. General Sherman requests the young lady’s presence at headquarters.”

  “This minute?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We have just begun our meal.”

  “The general will see the young lady’s returned in ample time to finish.”

  Sara appeared. “Does she have a choice in this matter?”

  “Well, ma’am, seeing that General Sherman is in command of the city, not to mention this whole section of the state of Georgia, I would say no, she doesn’t.”

  So once more, Hattie arrived in Madison Square in a military carriage and was shown to the general’s untidy room on the second floor. Sherman wasn’t seated with food this time, but stood before a pier glass, buttoning the collar of his uniform blouse.

  “Ah, Miss Lester. Do sit down, please, and be comfortable.” Hattie did the former but couldn’t accomplish the latter.

  “Thank you so much for responding to the summons, and for honoring our bargain. I received your letter, which I have already dispatched to President Lincoln. The colored chap we rescued delivered the letter.”

  “Zip Winks.”

  “Winks, you say. Is he related to the sergeant?”

  “An admirer only.”

  “There’s a place for him in our pioneer corps whenever he desires. He brought a small food crock along with your letter. A savory treat, one I remember from my days superintending a military school in Alexandria, Louisiana.”

  “Hopping John. My mother and Miss Vee sent it. Eat some tonight or tomorrow, you’ll have good luck for a year.”

  “I can certainly use it. Secretary Stanton will arrive in a few days to debate whether my opinions about colored men as front line troops are correct.” He drew up a chair opposite her. “I would like to say again how much I admired your courage and audacity in helping to free the illegally detained Negroes. Fleeg’s in the county jail, as you know. The civil authorities will punish him. However, I wanted to tell you personally that Sergeant Winks will receive a commendation.”

  “Thank you, Mr. General. He’ll appreciate that.”

  “You still don’t like me very much, do you?”

  “I can’t say I do, sir. I’m truly grateful for your help with rescuing Zip, but it doesn’t change one thing. You made war on old men and women and children. And horses. And chickens. Hogs too.”

  “War is cruel, Miss Lester. You can’t make it anything else. I marched from Atlanta, off the map and all the way here, so the Confederacy would understand it was whipped, and give up that much sooner. Only then could we put the Union back together.”

  In the street, celebrants sang “Auld Lang Syne.” Sherman said, “Please convey my news to Sergeant Winks.”

  “I will, Mr. General. May I say, I heard about the passing of your infant son, and I am very sorry for it.”

  “Kind of you to say so. I never saw baby Charlie. War punishes all of us one way or another.”

  “Yes, sir, I believe you. Is there anything else?”

  “Just this. Where you kicked me?” Sherman rubbed his right ankle. “When the weather’s cold or damp, it still hurts. Plenty.”

  Hattie wished him happy New Year and went out smiling.

  Hattie woke on her trundle bed on the first morning of the new year. Sara had taken over the upper bed, Vee returning to her own room. Winks had spread blankets in the parlor; Adam still bedded in the kitchen. Dr. Rohrschamp’s house was crowded,
but somehow all the more pleasant because of it.

  What Hattie discovered when she woke up wasn’t pleasant. She wasn’t grief-stricken; Sara, never priggish, had prepared her daughter. Yet the knowledge of irreversible change brought a rush of tears. Sara heard, and awoke.

  “What is it, Hattie?”

  Hattie drew back the comforter for her mother to see. Sara put her bare feet over the edge of the bed and stood.

  “Girls embark on the road to adulthood at many different times. I promise you this. Growing to be a woman is a wonderful thing. One day, you’ll know.”

  Tears of her own flowed as she hugged her daughter against the warmth of her flannel bosom.

  “Oh, my dear child. What a momentous year this has been, for all of us.”

  In the bright winter sunshine, General Slocum’s left wing passed hundreds of spectators gathered along Broad Street. Over New Year’s, the last mines had been cleared from the river, and sunken obstructions removed. Elements of General Howard’s right wing had already boarded steamers for Beaufort, South Carolina. The left wing intended to march upriver, presumably to invest Augusta, but Winks dismissed this as a feint. “The real target’s Columbia or Charleston, you watch.”

  Miss Vee hadn’t joined the crowd, preferring to remain at home and fuss over the sergeant, to whom she seemed permanently attached; nor did he act unhappy with the arrangement.

  National and regimental flags splashed color along the broad avenue. Bayonets shone, silver spikes of war on the rifles of passing companies. Caissons rumbled, and a regimental band serenaded marchers and onlookers with “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”

  Hattie stood between her mother and Legrand Parmenter, watching the resumption of the war. Hattie thought Sherman’s lean and sunburned Westerners very fit from the Christmas respite. She pitied the civilians who were about to feel Yankee wrath, whether in Augusta or the Palmetto State.

  Slocum’s pioneer corps passed, smartly turned out in blue. Among the proud faces she saw Zip’s. She waved and waved until she was sure he’d noticed. She would miss him, but he’d promised to return. He liked Augusta, he said, and might like to settle there as a free man of color.