The Last, Long Night

by Ginny Dye

  No one said anything for several long minutes while the warm spring air pushed through the curtains and caused lantern light to dance around the room. It was far from a peaceful feeling, but for just a moment there was stillness and even relative quiet in a city that seemed to be collectively holding its breath.

  Thomas finally turned to Jeremy. “I’m sorry, but I shouldn’t have expected our meal would be any different. Everyone has their opinions lately, and I find I disagree with many of them.”

  Jeremy smiled briefly, white teeth flashing from his tanned face topped with blond hair and lit by vibrant blue eyes.

  Carrie stared at him, stunned by his good looks, and wishing she could…

  “It was more than enough to have a good meal,” Jeremy said cheerfully.

  “You call beans and cornbread a good meal?” Thomas asked with disbelief.

  “It’s more than what my father has right now. Everything I take home he pours back into his congregation.”

  “Do you resent it?” Thomas asked carefully.

  “Not at all,” Jeremy replied quickly. “The free blacks of Richmond have so little, and the war has made it even harder. Carrie helped them get through the winter by insisting they all plant gardens last year, and by turning the land behind the church into a huge garden, but it’s run out. It will be a while before the new gardens will produce.”

  Carrie’s heart warmed as she listened to Jeremy and saw the genuine caring on his face.

  “My father has given his life to his congregation,” Jeremy continued. “The least I can do is give a few meals.”

  Thomas smiled at Jeremy. “Your father is a lucky man.”

  “As are you, sir,” Jeremy replied. “Carrie is well loved by many people who owe their lives to her. And to Janie, too.”

  “I’m well aware how lucky I am,” Thomas agreed, his face lighting with a genuine grin. “I hope you’ll join us more often.”

  “I would like that, sir. Now that the days are getting longer my father is usually gone, working with his parishoners. I eat most meals alone.”

  “It must be lonely for you,” Carrie observed thoughtfully. “All the men your age are fighting.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I suppose I get lonely at times, but I also find it rather positive to have a skill that keeps me from being someone’s target. I never agreed with this war from the start, so I’ll admit I’m glad I don’t have to fight.”

  Thomas smiled. “I see I have several young people in my home who have no trouble speaking their minds.”

  “Does that bother you, Mr. Cromwell?” Jeremy asked.

  Her fondness for Jeremy was growing.

  “Not at all!” Thomas responded quickly. “I have discovered that I find complacent people who go with the flow rather tedious.” He smiled over at Carrie. “My headstrong daughter has probably shortened my life from fear many times, but she certainly has made it less boring!”

  Thomas leaned back in his chair and lit his pipe, something he saved for special ocassions because of tobacco shortage. “There is one thing that bothers me though, Jeremy. I know I’m old enough to be your father, but I have already gained tremendous respect for you. I would appreciate it if you would call me Thomas. Perhaps it is my awareness of my age that wants me to bypass the Mr. Cromwell label.”

  Jeremy grinned easily. “I’ll be happy to, Mr… I mean, Thomas. I have tremendous respect for you too.”

  Carrie watched them, her insides churning with her secret. She pushed back her chair and stood, “I hope you all don’t mind, but it’s been a long day, and I suspect tomorrow will be even longer. I’m going to say goodnight.” She leaned over to give her father a kiss on his cheek.

  “Of course, dear,” Thomas said instantly. His expression said he knew something was troubling her, but she knew he would believe it was just the impending battle and her worry about Robert.

  “It was wonderful to see you again, Jeremy. I hope you’ll return soon.”

  “Good night, Carrie,” Jeremy responded. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

  Janie smiled at her. “I’ll be up in just a little while.”

  Carrie smiled back and let her eyes show her gratitude. She knew Janie was giving her time to be alone in the room they shared when Robert was away fighting. Both of them appreciated the comfort it provided, but Janie would know Carrie needed time to think.

  Carrie sank down onto the windowseat, grateful for the soft spring air wafting in and almost able to block out the sounds of carriages, trains, and industry that kept the city awake twenty-four hours a day now. So much was racing through her mind and heart.

  Carrie’s mind flew back to the day when she had discovered that Rose - the young slave girl she had grown up with, and who had become her best friend - was actually her aunt, the result of her grandfather’s raping Old Sarah, Rose’s mother.

  That same day she had discovered Rose was a twin, but that her brother, born white, had been sold as a slave by her father to protect her grandfather.

  Carrie and Rose had found paperwork that said who he had been sold to, but then had been surprised to also discover paperwork that showed he had been taken to an orphanage and then adopted by a white family who knew of his heritage but who would raise him as a white boy.

  Carrie, back on the plantation the winter before, had discovered old family photos and realized Jeremy Anthony, whom she had met for just a few minutes, was the spitting image of her grandfather at that age.

  When she had brought the picture to Pastor Anthony, he had admitted he had known all along and then asked her to keep his secret. He asked her to promise she wouldn’t reveal Jeremy’s true identity. He was afraid of what it would do to the young man who had grown up white. He didn’t want the prejudice and hatred he saw aimed at his congregation every day aimed at his son.

  Knowing how desperately Rose wanted to meet her twin, Carrie had tried to change the pastor’s mind, but to no avail. In the end, she had told him she didn’t know what she would do, but that she thought he was underestimating his son and that Jeremy deserved to know the truth.

  She felt she didn’t have to make a decision yet because the war was still separating her from Rose. She had helped Rose and Moses escape through the Underground Railroad - sending them to Aunt Abby in Pennsylvania. Now Rose was in the Contraband Camp. She knew she wouldn’t see her again until this crazy war had ended.

  To walk in and find Jeremy in her parlor had been quite a shock. To watch the mutual respect and affection he shared with her father was amazing. Only she knew they were actually half brothers.

  Everything in her wanted to reveal the truth. She had promised her father to never lie to him again about anything. But then Pastor Anthony’s fearful eyes as he begged her to keep the secret rose in her mind. Carrie pressed her forehead against the window as her feelings battled through her heart.

  Suddenly she shook her head and pulled back to look north. She didn’t have to make the decision tonight. She just wanted to send her love and thoughts to Robert tonight.

  Her brave, wonderful husband was part of an army that was woefully outnumbered and pitifully equipped. She already knew thousands of men would die or be horribly mutilated. So far, Robert kept coming home to her. Would he make it through another battle? Carrie groaned and clinched her fists, her heart reaching out to fill Robert with her love. It was all she could do, but it left her completely dissatisfied.

  Then her mind turned to Moses. Rose must be worried sick for her husband, as well. Was Moses still a spy? Was he now fighting like the tens of thousands of free blacks and former slaves that had swarmed into the Union army after the Emancipation Proclamation? Would he and Robert try to kill each other tomorrow or the day after?

  Carrie groaned and pushed away the tears flowing down her cheeks. She heard the door open and close, and then she felt Janie’s hand on her shoulder. “It’s starting again,” she said brokenly.

  “I know,” Janie said softly. “But we’ve learned ho
w to do this, Carrie. We can’t look past just this moment, and then the next moment. We’ll simply deal with whatever comes.”

  Carrie nodded, gaining comfort from her strength, while knowing Janie was saying it as much to herself as she was to her friend. Whether it was tomorrow or the next day, the battle would start, the hospitals would fill, and they would once again give their all to save lives.

  Janie settled down with her on the windowseat, and they both looked north. Would tomorrow be the day?

  Chapter Three

  Moses yawned and stretched, his tall, muscular body much too long for the blanket to cover him adequately. Since the sun was just lighting the horizon, and there had been no call for his men, he could only assume the big battle wasn’t going to start today either. That was just fine with him.

  He’d only been back with the Union army a week since returning from the failed raid with Dalgren against Richmond. He’d had no trouble making it to Fort Monroe after most of Dahlgren’s men had been killed or captured in the ambush that had left Dahlgren dead.

  It hadn’t been so easy, however, to rid himself of the recurring nightmares and haunting images of the terrified black spy that Dahlgren had hanged because the spy unknowingly had led Dahlgren’s raiding troops to a James River crossing that was impassable because of heavy mountain rains. Dahlgren’s rage at the black Union spy hadn’t surprised Moses though he wished it would have.

  Black men, both free and former slaves, had joined the Union army after the Emancipation Proclamation, but they fought prejudice and hatred from their fellow soldiers every day. Moses knew it would take a long time for that reality to change. He had learned some things recently that only made that more obvious.

  “Mornin’, Moses.”

  Moses smiled easily. “Good morning, Pompey.” His love for the elderly former slave had grown throughout the campaigns they had shared.

  “You reckon it gonna be today?” Pompey asked, settling on the ground beside him.

  Moses shrugged. “It doesn’t feel like it, but things could change at any time.”

  “You ready for more fightin’?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Pompey stared at him through narrowed eyes. “You ain’t been de same since you done come back from dat raid.”

  Moses just shrugged again. He wasn’t about to tell Pompey or the rest of his men what had happened. They would each have to deal with the reality of being a black man in a white man’s army, but he wasn’t going to throw more of it in their faces. He was sick to death of fighting, but he hadn’t lost his desire to do whatever it took to guarantee freedom for his people.

  If it meant fighting, he would fight. If it meant losing Rose and his little boy, it was a price he would have to pay. There was nothing that said he had to like either of his options.

  Pompey let the silence sit between them for a while. “De boys be pretty heated up, Moses.”

  Moses looked at him sharply. Pompey’s voice expressed much more than his impassive face. “About?” He knew he was about to find out the real reason Pompey had sought him out that morning.

  “You done hear ‘bout dat Fort Pillow?”

  Moses groaned inwardly, but he felt his face tighten with anger.

  “I reckon dat be answer ‘nuff,” Pompey replied, his own face blazing with fury. “It be true what dey be sayin’?”

  Moses sighed heavily. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Dey really killed all our boys after dey done surrendered?” Pompey asked in disbelief.

  Moses shook his head. “I just wish I could say I was surprised.” He groped for words as fury spun through his entire body.

  “What be de story?” Pompey asked quietly. “I dunno we heard de right thing.”

  Moses was silent for a long moment and then decided the truth was always best. “There were two regiments of black soldiers, about half of the six hundred soldiers who were stationed at Fort Pillow. Fort Pillow was a Confederate fort that we took over a couple years ago in Tennessee. The Rebels decided they wanted it back.

  There was a battle about three weeks ago. We were rather outnumbered. Anyway, the Rebels took the fort, and the Union troops surrendered.”

  “Dat’s what we done heard,” Pompey said grimly. “Dey should hab been took as prisoners!”

  Moses nodded his agreement even while his face twisted. “The South isn’t real keen on having former slaves as prisoners of war.”

  “So dey really did shoot dem all?” Pompey asked heavily.

  Moses groped for words and then finally just nodded, sick at heart. How could words possibly communicate the horror of the massacre he had been informed took place at Fort Pillow? All but twenty of the three hundred black soldiers at Fort Pillow had been executed after they had surrendered. And then, General Forrest knowing the fort had no real significance to the Confederacy had abandoned it an hour later, leaving behind all the corpses to rot.

  Rage and sorrow engulfed Pompey’s face. Finally he said, “I reckon de boys gonna be out for some revenge,” he said flatly.

  Moses smiled grimly. “I have a feeling it will make all of us fight harder,” he agreed. A sudden stir among his men one hundred feet away caught his attention.

  Pompey glanced over and then peered harder. “What dat white man doin’ ober dere?” he asked sharply. “That ain’t one of de officers.”

  Moses shrugged but stood. “Let’s go find out.”

  As he got closer, he couldn’t contain the broad smile that spread across his face.

  Matthew Justin couldn’t help being relieved that a battle didn’t seem scheduled for that day. He had long ago grown weary of covering battles, but he never grew tired of discovering the people wearing the uniforms, especially the black soldiers that were increasing by such vast numbers.

  It was also possible Lee would start the battle, but he didn’t think that was the Confederate plan. They had dug into an impregnable defense system on the banks above the Rapidan, and he knew Lee had less than half the men the Union did. It wouldn’t be the first time the Confederate general surprised them, but something in his gut said it wouldn’t be today.

  As Matthew sauntered around looking for the men he wanted to interview, he couldn’t say he was back to one hundred percent after his imprisonment at Libby Prison, but he had gained a lot of weight back in the weeks since his escape. And the Philadelphia Enquirer was eager to have its leading war correspondent back in the field. He had spent the last week writing the story of the prisons and the men languishing there; now he had a battle to cover.

  Matthew was also quite certain he would do whatever it took not to be taken prisoner again. He knew he wouldn’t survive another visit in Libby Prison, and he doubted the other Confederate prisoner-of-war camps were any better. In fact, he’d heard others were worse. He couldn’t control the shudder that coursed through his body as the memories, still so fresh in his mind, swarmed over him.

  It was time to quit thinking and time to start working. He stopped and decided to speak with the group of men he was standing in the midst of. The fact that it was a black regiment was all the better. He wanted to tell their stories and bring them to life for his readers. There was one black soldier, in particular, that he wanted to meet, but he knew better than to expect he could find him in the tens of thousands of men spread out on the river banks.

  “Good morning, men,” Matthew called out.

  “Mornin’,” several of them responded and then went back to cooking their bacon over the glowing campfire. He wasn’t in uniform, so it was obvious he wasn’t an officer.

  Matthew knew the black men were curious. He smiled and settled down on his heels. “My name is Matthew Justin. I’m a journalist for the Philadelphia Enquirer.”

  The soldiers continued to watch him. He didn’t feel any antagonism from them - just caution. He knew they had every right to feel that way. Over one hundred thousand black soldiers were now fighting in the Union army, but there were still many white soldiers who didn�
��t believe they belonged there, and they took every chance they could to let them know it.

  “I just spent time in the contraband camp at Fort Monroe,” Matthew said, instantly aware many of the men were watching him more closely now. “I recently escaped from a prison in Richmond and made my way to Fort Monroe.”

  “I heard ‘bout dat escape from Libby Prison,” one of the men acknowledged. “There was a whole bunch of us prayin’ all you would make it.”

  “Thank you. We didn’t all make it free, but most of us did.” Matthew suppressed a shudder as he thought of the treatment the captured escapees must surely be enduring.

  “It be true that some of you dug a tunnel all the way out from dat prison?” one of the men asked.

  Matthew just nodded, not wanting to relive the experience.

  “Welcome to freedom, man!” one of the soldiers said, giving Matthew the first real smile he had received since joining them. Just as he expected, that one acceptance loosened the ice. Everybody relaxed and lost their cautious looks.

  Matthew smiled back. “All of you who were slaves know exactly how glad I was to get out of that prison. I only had a taste of what you experienced all your life, but it was enough to last me my whole life. I would do anything to keep from going back to prison.”

  “Yep. That be about how we feel,” one man responded, stretching his lean body back against a log. “I done spent thirty years as a slave. I ain’t neber goin’ back to it, and I want to help all dem that are still stuck down there. I reckon dat’s a good enough reason to fight.”

  Matthew gazed around the campfire as the rest of the men nodded solemnly. “I had a chance to talk at the school down at Fort Monroe. It’s so wonderful to see the children learning for the first times in their lives. I have a friend who is a teacher down there.”

  “Dat be so?” another one of the men asked. “I know one of the teachers down there, too. When she started out, she be the only black teacher down there. Don’t know about now.”