Whippoorwill

by R. L. Bartram

Ceci simply repeated her call sign.

  “So, it’s you.” He holstered his pistol and climbed down. “I’ve orders to take you directly to General Lee.”

  “It looks like it’s a little late for that,” Ceci observed, coming up to him. “What happened?”

  “Battle lasted three days,” he told her. “We almost had them surrounded once, until we lost the advantage. Then General Lee ordered General Longstreet to send fifteen thousand men across a mile and a half of open ground, straight at the Union centre. Pickett’s division was all but annihilated. It was a massacre. Lee’s turning back.”

  “No,” Ceci gasped. “He can’t do that. We must remain on the offensive. The Mississippi is closed. We can’t win this war from a defensive position.”

  “Nevertheless, those are his intentions,” he shrugged.

  With her hopes of ending the war dashed, Ceci had no option but to follow her orders. “I’ve been told to stay with the army,” she advised him. “Until I receive further instructions.”

  “I’d best take you to the General, then,” he concluded.

  The Lieutenant led her away from the front line, a mile through the woods and out into a clearing where the main Confederate camp was situated. They advanced on a large tent at the edge of the clearing. Leaving Ceci outside, he went in. Moments later he emerged, holding the flap back for her. “General Lee will see you now,” he invited her in.

  Ceci stepped inside, to find an elderly man, his face care-worn, with white hair and a white beard, sitting by a table littered with maps. She came to attention and saluted.

  “I am aware I am to ask you no questions,” he remarked, returning her salute.

  “Nevertheless, I fear the message you carry, has come too late.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m afraid it has,” Ceci admitted. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. Pray, don’t apologise,” he sat forward, raising a hand. “I’m sure you did everything you could. Every man here has and, by the grace of God, we will yet prevail.”

  This was the man, Ceci knew, to whom Abraham Lincoln had offered control of the Union army. He had refused the president of the United States, declaring that his duty was to his home and his people, in Richmond, Virginia. There was something about him, a presence, that made her heart glow. In his company, anything seemed possible. She felt that it was, indeed, only the will of God that could defeat him.

  “You look weary, sir,” he observed. “Doubtless you have travelled very far in the service of the Confederacy. I’ll have the Lieutenant find you food and shelter. Stay with us for as long as you need to.”

  As she thanked him, his smile reminded him of her father. She knew she would never forget this moment for as long as she lived.

  ***

  As Trent lay on his bed, nursing his sore head, he overheard two orderlies talking outside the field hospital.

  “Hell of a battle,” the first one remarked. “Every one of those Sesesh fought like he had a personal grudge.”

  “Not all of them,” his companion reminded him, a trace of humour in his voice.

  “That’s right,” the first man recalled. “They sure love Captain Sinclaire.”

  “Yeah,” his companion agreed, “they’re real fond of him.”

  Trent felt a tremor run through the ground as they snapped to attention, before recognising the voice of his old friend and comrade, Captain Howard Pierce.

  “A lot of strange rumours circulate, after a battle,” he told them. “Men think they see all sorts of things. If I hear you two, passing any of them on you’ll be digging privies for the duration.” He paused. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” they chorused.

  “How you feeling?” Pierce asked, as he came into the tent.

  “Hell of a headache,” Trent smiled. “Apart from that, I’m fine.”

  “Lucky for you you’ve got a thick skull,” Pierce grinned. “Another quarter of an inch, and we’d be digging a grave.”

  “I’m not sure whether to thank God, or the poor marksmanship of that Confederate sniper,” Trent confided.

  “I guess, one goes with the other,” Pierce shrugged.

  “Is it true, the things I’m hearing?” Trent frowned. “A rebel soldier saved my life, and then tried to rob me?”

  “So I’m told,” Pierce replied casually.

  “What about the other thing?” Trent pointed to his mouth.

  “Pay no attention to it,” Pierce waved his concerns aside. “Just an incident that was badly observed. Mind you,” he recalled. “I’ve heard of some old Indian tribes that used to sneak up on their enemies whilst they slept, and leave some token. It was a sign of their courage, and an insult to the other.”

  “Doesn’t sound like any rebel I’ve ever come across,” Trent declined the idea. “Why take the trouble to save my life, when all he wanted to do was rob me?”

  “Perhaps he didn’t,” Pierce suggested. “Like I said, perhaps he left something on you, like one of those red savages. Have you checked your pockets?”

  “There’s nothing that shouldn’t be there,” Trent assured him.

  “What about your coat?” Pierce handed it to him.

  Trent began to go through the pockets, pausing, when his fingers touched something that hadn’t been there before.

  “Found something?” Pierce enquired, noticing his expression.

  “No.” Trent withdrew his hand, he had no intention of adding credence to the rumours. “Nothing’s out of place.”

  “As I said before,” Pierce reminded him. “In the heat of battle, a man can imagine all kinds of things. Get some rest. In a couple of days we’ll have you back in the saddle.”

  Alone once more, Trent pushed his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed it out. It was a fragment, torn from a map. All that was left on it, was the state of Louisiana. Perhaps his rescuer wanted him to know where he came from, but that didn’t account for the kiss. Maybe he was part Indian, after all. He stared at the fragment. It didn’t make any sense.

  Then, the thought struck him, harder than the musket ball. He looked round at the picture by his bedside. A beautiful young woman stood, gazing demurely over her shoulder at him. His vision blurred. Suddenly, all he could see, was that wild girl, on that hot Louisiana afternoon, facing him defiantly, as he held her and tried to kiss her. “Ceci?” His lips, silently, framed her name, as he stared in disbelief. “No.” He shook his head, wincing as he did so. It was impossible. The idea soared beyond all reason.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Ceci hadn’t washed for three days. Even though she’d been trained to tolerate it, didn’t mean she preferred it. She’d selected a towel from amongst the items the Lieutenant had given her and set out in search of water.

  It was comforting to hear so many southern accents again. She’d missed that in Washington. Now, she heard them all around her, as men scurried back and forth, occupied with the duties of the day. Nevertheless, she remained cautious. Doucet had taught her never to let her guard down, under any circumstances.

  She hadn’t gone very far before she came across a group of men sitting around a campfire, drinking coffee. She could see, from the insignia they wore, that they were from an Irish regiment. Before the war, thousands of Irish immigrants had come to America looking for a new home. Even the Union had Irish soldiers.

  “Coffee smells good,” she remarked.

  One of the men looked up. “Help yourself,” he nodded towards the pot.

  Ceci knelt and poured herself a mug. It was the best thing she’d tasted in days.

  “I left the old country and travelled to the new world, in search of a better place.” The man who’d invited her in, continued his conversation. His accent was thick, the brogue difficult to understand. “Me, and the re
st of the lads from my village,” he went on. “When we arrived here, some of us went this way, some of us went that. I’m barely off the ship, when this fella comes up to me and says, sign here, fight for your country. I thought I had to sign. The next thing I know, I’m standing behind a stone wall, shooting at the same boys I come across with. He tossed the dregs of his mug into the fire. “Three thousand miles, I come, in search of a new life, only to end up killing my own kind.” He dragged his hand across his chin. “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” he swore. “I thought the English was bad enough, but this is something else.”

  Ceci drained her mug, and left them to their thoughts. Her country was at war with itself. Brother against brother. Father against son. She had always considered it a tragedy. The predicament of the Irish troops was not so very different. She carried on through the camp, still in search of a place to bathe.

  Presently, she noticed a flight of ducks descending, behind a grove of trees, indicating that there was a river, or a lake beyond. She made her way towards it. Eventually, she discovered a broad lake, surrounded by reeds and clumps of tall trees. She began to skirt its perimeter, looking for a secluded spot.

  She saw what looked like a good place, just ahead of her. She walked softly. Bear had taught them all how to move without making a sound. With the stealth of a cat, she approached a patch of willow scrub, that concealed the bank beyond. She moved silently through it, and peered out. She drew her head back sharply. This section of bank was already occupied. A soldier, stripped to the waist, crouched over the water, splashing it over himself, oblivious to her presence. Ceci waited, hoping he’d soon finish and depart. After a moment, he stood up, sweeping his hair back with both hands. As he did so, he turned. Ceci caught her breath, as feminine breasts bobbed into view.

  The soldier heard her gasp and whirled round, folding her arms over her chest. Ceci reacted quickly. Stepping out from behind the screen of willows, she yanked up her shirt, pulling away the linen bindings.

  The girl paused, staring in astonishment. “I thought I was the only one left,” she remarked, after a moment.

  “You mean, there’s more of you?” Ceci stared back. “Women soldiers?”

  The girl dropped her arms, reaching for her shirt. “Lots of us,” she replied, “on both sides, I hear.”

  “I had no idea,” Ceci admitted. “Why ‘d you do it?”

  The girl seemed puzzled by her remark. “Same reason as you,” she gestured at Ceci’s uniform. “Ain’t only men that can fight.”

  “Does anyone know?” Ceci asked.

  The girl shook her head. “As far as anyone’s concerned, we’re men, like the rest.”

  “How’d you pass inspection?” Ceci wondered.

  “Do you think they bother to check?” the girl snorted. “All they want is fighters, and that’s as far as it goes.”

  “If they did, it would shake the pillars of heaven,” Ceci tested a theory that had just occurred to her.

  The girl merely cast her a quizzical frown. Clearly Doucet had nothing to do with this.

  “You say, there are more of you?” Ceci continued quickly.

  “In different regiments,” the girl told her. “There were three of us here, until yesterday. Now there’s only me.” She looked Ceci up and down. “I ain’t seen you before.”

  “I arrived last night,” she told the truth. “I haven’t washed in three days.”

  “Go ahead,” the girl nodded towards the water. “I’ll keep watch for you. These may be our boys, but they’re boys, just the same, and you know what they’re like when they see a naked girl, especially after a battle.”

  “How long have you been here?” Ceci asked, as she began to strip.

  “Since the beginning,” she gestured casually.

  “How’d you manage for so long?” Ceci was keen to know.

  “I keep my wits, and this, about me,” she held up a formidable looking knife. “Even a boy bent on having you will think twice if it means losing his manhood.”

  Ceci stepped off the bank and lowered herself into the water. It felt good.

  “My real name’s Natty Taylor,” the girl confided. “Here, they call me Jack. If you’re gonna be around for a while, we could help each other out.”

  It was the first piece of good luck Ceci had had, since she left Washington. “Mariah Johnson,” she answered, retaining her alias. “I call myself Frank,” she borrowed the name from Amelia’s lover.

  “All right then, Frank,” Natty acknowledged. “How about we look out for each other? Sure would make life a whole lot simpler.”

  Natty had got this far on her own. With no training and no equipment. She’d make a useful ally. It was a proposition Ceci couldn’t afford to pass up. “That’s a deal,” she confirmed.

  ***

  As Lee’s army of Northern Virginia retreated along the Shenandoah Valley, towards Richmond, it was constantly harried by Union forces trying to cut off its escape. Almost every day, the Confederate troops were rallied to defend its flanks, or fight a rear-guard action. Due to Doucet’s influence, Ceci was spared from the fighting, but Natty wasn’t. Indeed, she insisted upon it.

  While she waited for Doucet to contact her, Ceci occupied herself with menial tasks around the camp, or helped with the wounded. In fact, anything she could do to be useful. She could have spent the entire time sitting on her behind, but she had no intention of doing that, not when others were dying in the cause of the South. Besides, such blatant inactivity would have drawn attention to herself. She very soon became a familiar face around the camp. Many called her by name. She had blended in.

  It always came as a great relief when Natty returned unharmed. Ceci had already lost, or abandoned, too many people she cared for. She didn’t want it to happen again. Trent was always in her thoughts. At Gettysburg, she’d held him in her arms, briefly. She wanted him so badly that there were occasions when she thought she saw him standing in front of her. A lone Union officer, in the midst of a Confederate camp. At night, he came to her in her dreams. Sometimes, they were so vivid, she’d wake up sweating. At other times, she’d cry out. Even the sentries didn’t take much notice. Many dreamed and cried out in the night, but for different reasons.

  “I ain’t been with a man, for nigh on three years,” Natty remarked one morning, as they sat by the lake shore. “For all that time, I’ve been surrounded by them.” The paradox was obvious.

  “Have you never been tempted?” Ceci asked.

  Natty’s round face creased, wrinkling her button nose, making the freckles on it dance. “Hell, yes.”

  “You mean you’d risk them finding out you’re a woman?” Ceci stared in astonishment.

  “I thought about knocking one of them out, one time. So, they wouldn’t know it was me, but what would be the point of that?” she concluded, with a shrug.

  “That would defeat the purpose,” Ceci agreed.

  “What about you?” Natty was equally curious. “How long’s it been?”

  “About the same,” Ceci sighed.

  “You never been tempted?” Natty returned her question to her.

  “No,” Ceci was adamant. “I’ve given my heart to just one man.”

  Natty’s mouth fell open. “He has to be one hell of a man,” she sounded impressed.

  “He is,” Ceci assured her wistfully.

  “I get it,” Natty pointed. “He’s rich, ain’t he? What is he, a plantation owner, a banker?” She broke off, staring contemplatively at the water. “Last boy I laid with, was a store clerk, didn’t have a cent to his name. Well-endowed, in other ways, though.”

  “No. He’s not any of those,” Ceci sighed again, Trent’s face swimming before her eyes.

  Natty looked up from the water. “Have you ever tried it with another girl?”

  Ceci shook her head. “I�
�ve read about such things,” she admitted. “I can’t say it ever appealed to me.”

  “I did, once,” Natty volunteered casually. “The kissing was nice, but let me tell you, it ain’t nothing like having a man.”

  “Natty Taylor, you are a living scandal,” Ceci chided. “What on earth’s going to happen to you after the war?”

  “I already know,” Natty declared. “I’m gonna get married, have a dozen brats, and get fat.”

  ***

  Ceci quickly discovered that, in her line of work, there were often long periods of total calm, followed by two or three incidents all arriving at once. As she moved through the camp that morning, she noticed two old timers watching her. Obviously veterans of many campaigns, they lounged against the side of a wagon, each of them chewing a thick wad of tobacco, their chins stained brown by the liquid.

  She nodded an acknowledgement as she passed by, heading for a water butt, where she paused to take a drink. They began to discuss her, unaware that she was still in earshot.

  “That’s the one, I was talking about,” the first man said to his companion. “Voice is kinda shrill. I was wondering if he’s old enough to fight.”

  His companion pursed his lips, squirting a jet of oily brown liquid onto the ground, letting the remainder dribble down his chin. “If he’s here, he’s old enough.”

  “I’m told, he don’t like to wash with the other men.” The first man, shifted his wad of tobacco to the other side of his mouth, with a flick of his tongue. “Some fella reckoned he caught a glimpse of him, through a tear in his tent flap. Looked like he was holding a dress.”

  His companion spat a second time, his eyes following the stream as it arced through the air. “How in the hell could he hide something as big as that? Must have been a blanket.”

  The first man remained unconvinced. “You suppose he’s one of them strange boys you hear tell of?” he wondered. “Likes to wear girl’s clothes?”

  “As long as he’s killing Yanks,” his companion replied, indifferently. “I don’t care what he wears.”