Their interest was merely idle curiosity, but it warned Ceci that her cover was wearing thin. She’d stayed with the army too long. It moved so slowly. She could have made better time on her own, but without a direction, or a destination, she was stuck here. There was still no word from Doucet. She chaffed on the delay. Something had to happen soon.
As she raised the ladle for a second sip of water, she saw an infantryman carrying an empty ammunition box. He set it on the ground and stood on top of it, as other soldiers gathered around.
“A newspaper man has just arrived, all the way from Richmond,” he announced, holding his arms out. “He wants to talk to the ordinary soldier,” he touched a hand to his chest, “about his experiences in the war. I’m gonna be famous.”
His audience cheered. “What’s he look like?” one of them called out.
“You’ll see, soon enough,” the infantryman quietened them. “Big fella, tall hat, grey hair, moustache. Kinda religious. Keeps talking about the pillars of heaven.”
Every muscle in Ceci’s body went ridged, as she heard her contact phrase. Somewhere, in this camp, there was a reporter, looking for her.
She pushed her way through the crowd, and shouted up at the infantryman.
“Where is he now?”
He bent his head, putting his hand behind his ear and stared at her.
“I said.” She repeated, raising her voice above the din of the crowd. “Where is he now?”
He pointed down the camp. “Somewhere, yonder,” he yelled back, “way over there.”
Ceci went in the direction he’d indicated until she noticed another crowd of soldiers ahead of her. There, in the middle of them, a sheaf of paper in one hand and a pen in the other, stood the object of her search. A large, grey haired man in a tall hat laughed and joked with the men. Ceci lingered on the edge of the gathering, and listened.
“My name’s Clarence Peabody.” The soldier watched intently, as the reporter wrote it down. “I got this scar on my face at Antietam, when a cannonball exploded right beside me.”
The reporter continued to write. “Why, sir,” he exclaimed. “That would shake the pillars of heaven.”
“Sure, as hell, shook me,” Clarence assured him, much to the amusement of his audience.
This was her man all right. He was trying the phrase on just about everyone he met. Ceci waited half a day, while he took the testimony of scores of soldiers, before he finally called a halt to the proceedings and retired to his tent. Now she knew where he was, Ceci slipped away.
At the earliest opportunity she found Natty and took her to her tent.
“I think I’m going to be transferred, very soon,” she told her. “I just wanted this chance to say goodbye.”
Natty hung her head. “That’s a shame,” she sighed. “We was getting along so well together.”
“I know,” Ceci agreed. “But winning the war comes first.”
“Do you know where you’re going?” Natty asked.
“No,” Ceci shook her head. “Not yet.” She put her hand on the girl’s arm. “When this war’s over, you find that man,” she urged. “Have those brats and get fat, in peace.”
Natty nodded. “What about that man of yours?” she asked. “When’d you reckon you’ll settle down?”
Ceci exhaled sharply. The prospect seemed so distant. “I’ve no idea!” she exclaimed. “I’ve a long way to go yet.”
Natty hastily unbuckled the belt at her waist. Holding up a leather sheath, she pulled a foot long knife from it, and offered it to Ceci. “Be careful,” she warned. “It’s got an edge like a razor. Wherever you’re going, this’ll help make sure you get there in one piece.”
As evening fell, Ceci made her way down through the camp. Hiding behind a bush, a few feet from the reporter’s tent, she gave her call sign.
The men of the army of Northern Virginia, glanced up, as they warmed themselves at their camp fires. Momentarily distracted from the rigours of war, their thoughts fled back to hearth and home and the loved ones they’d left behind. Their hearts aglow, touched by the sound of birdsong, the cry of a whippoorwill.
Chapter Twenty Six
The canvas of the reporter’s tent rippled briefly as he threw back the flap and stepped out in time to see Ceci emerge from behind the bush. “I’ve been looking for you, all day,” he whispered, glancing around.
“I’ve been waiting for you for three weeks,” she countered.
“Why, sir,” he remarked, in a loud voice, for the benefit of onlookers. “I’d be glad to take your testimony. Step into my tent. We’ll get on with it right away.”
“You’re not really a reporter,” she guessed, once they were inside.
“You’re not really a man,” he retorted. “That makes us both liars.”
There was no denying, he had a point there.
“Earl Hamilton. I’m a Colonel in the Confederate intelligence service,” he identified himself. “Attached to Doucet. You’ve been reassigned,” he told her, spreading a map on the table between them.
In the yellow lamplight, Ceci could see that it was the state of Tennessee, on which several positions had been marked.
Hamilton touched a finger to one of them. “We hold Chattanooga, and the vital rail hub there,” he began. “That is to say, the Army of Tennessee, under the command of Major General Braxton Bragg.” He paused, allowing her time to absorb the information. “Opposing him,” he continued, his finger moving across the map as he spoke. “Is the Union Army of the Cumberland, commanded by Major General William.S. Rosecrans. Bragg expects an attack to come from the north-east. We have recently intercepted information that Rosecrans intends to exploit this, and out manoeuvre him.” He paused again, to make sure she was still following him.
“I can read a map,” she assured him.
“As a diversionary tactic,” Hamilton went on, “Rosecrans will send artillery to the north-east, and position his guns where Bragg can see them, confirming his suspicion that the attack is coming from that direction. He will begin a bombardment of the city, forcing Bragg to concentrate his forces in the north-east. Meanwhile, the bulk of Rosecrans’ army will cross the Tennessee river, far to the south and west, coming up on Bragg’s flank.” He waited for her to assess the situation.
Ceci studied the map intently, before finally looking up. “That would be the end of it,” she concluded.
“Exactly,” he concurred, “if we lose Chattanooga. If Bragg is forced out of Tennessee, it will open a door for a Union invasion of the Deep South.”
As far as Ceci was concerned, that meant, Mississippi, Alabama, Arkansas, Georgia, and, most importantly, Louisiana.
“I take it that the telegraph’s been cut,” she assumed.
“Even if it wasn’t,” Hamilton advised her, “we wouldn’t send this over the wire. If it were intercepted, and the code broken, they’d know we were aware of their plans and change them. You must take this information, personally, to Bragg.”
“What are my orders?” she asked.
Hamilton’s finger began to move again. “You leave here in the morning. A horse will be provided. Go to this address in Richmond,” he dropped a slip of paper on top of the map. “There, you will be furnished with a new identity. The train will take you the first four hundred miles, as far as Tullahoma. The Union has closed the line from there. Nothing gets in or out of Chattanooga. You’ll have to travel the rest of the way on horseback. That’s only seventy-five miles or so. You have three weeks to get there, before the assault begins.”
“Where am I going?” Ceci wanted to know.
“Your destination is the Moss Creek plantation,” Hamilton indicated its position on the map. “It’s the closest point at which you can cross over to the Confederate lines.”
“What’s this?” she pointed to a curious lookin
g symbol.
“That’s the problem,” Hamilton glowered. “It’s a narrow strip of woodland, which divides the two armies in that section. Unfortunately, because of the direction in which you must travel, you will arrive on this side,” he indicated the Union emplacements. “Moss Creek is on the other side.”
“Is this a road?” she noticed a thin line, dissecting the woods.
“More like a narrow track,” Hamilton elaborated. “It’s patrolled day and night. Normally, it would be impossible for anyone to get through unnoticed. However,” he continued quickly, “every month, the unit guarding the road, is relieved. It takes approximately three hours to make the change, leaving the road vulnerable. Which means,” he summarised, “that you must be within sight of that road, on August 21, between the hours of nine and midnight. If you miss your chance, you will be trapped on the Union side of the woods.”
It was at times like this that Ceci truly appreciated Doucet’s conscientious approach to her training. This assignment would require every skill she’d learned. The risks were enormous, but so were the stakes.
***
The ride back to Richmond was child’s play compared to what lay in front of her. She went to the address she’d been given. It was the home of a widow, Alma Birchwood. To a person of Ceci’s age, Alma looked to be about a hundred years old. Her body was shrunken, her shoulders hunched, and she walked with the help of anebony cane. Her face was as wrinkled as a dry potato, her hair was pure white, and so thin that Ceci could see her head through it. However, as she was soon to learn, her great age had in no way dulled Alma’s wits, which were as sharp as they’d ever been.
“I’ve been expecting you, honey,” she greeted her.
Ceci hesitated on the threshold. “You can see I’m a woman?” she asked suspiciously.
“Don’t fret, honey,” Alma’s eyes twinkled, like dew soaked berries. “Your disguise is most convincing but seeing as how I got a dress waiting in the back for you I figured you weren’t no man.” She looked Ceci up and down. “You must be one of Doucet’s girls. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’ve known him since he was a boy. Sly little bastard. Born to be hung, that’s what I say. You coming in or what?”
“You don’t seem to be too concerned about security,” Ceci mentioned, as Alma closed the door behind her.
“Oh, really,” she grunted disdainfully. “What they going to do if they catch me? Cut short my young life?” she laughed hoarsely. “Let’s see about fixing you a bath. That uniform you’re wearing, smells like a she bear littered in it.”
It was the first hot bath, with real soap, Ceci had enjoyed in a month. If she’d had her way, she’d have stayed there forever.
“I got this nightdress for you,” Alma laid it over a chair, next to the tub. “No sense in getting all dressed up tonight. When you’re finished here, I got pork and beans on the stove. After that, you’d best get your head down. I guess you’ve got a long way to go.”
In the morning, it felt good to dress as a woman again. Soft, comfortable clothes, petticoats and clean linen. Vain as ever, Ceci admired herself in the mirror.
“You’re a real pretty girl,” Alma hobbled into the room behind her. “I guess, if it wasn’t for this war you’d be married with young un’s by now,” she remarked astutely.
“It almost happened,” Ceci sighed. “But that seems like a long time ago now.”
“You’re still young,” Alma observed. “You still got plenty of time.” She placed an envelope on top of the dresser. “Here’s all your papers,” she told her. “Travel passes and whatnot. Your new identity is Ellen Franklin of Maine. Doucet sent down a new set of uniforms, and a dress. Leave the old ones. I’ll burn them.”
“How do I look?” Ceci asked, holding out her skirts.
“As pretty as a picture,” Alma approved. “Going to get them Yankee boys all hot and bothered. Here,” she offered Ceci a lace garter. “Try this on for size.”
“I’m already wearing garters,” Ceci told her.
“This ain’t the kind of garter for holding up your stockings,” Alma turned it over, to reveal a small holster, from which she took a Derringer. “See,” she showed Ceci, “fits right into the palm of your hand. Two forty-four calibre bullets. Mighty effective at close range. I used to wear this when I was in the territories. Killed my first injun with it when I was just sixteen.”
Ceci accepted it, put her foot up on the chair, raised her skirt and slipped it on up to her thigh.
“A perfect fit.” Alma seemed satisfied. “It looks good on you.”
“I must remember, never to underestimate you again.” Ceci lowered her foot to the floor, adjusting her dress.
“Honey,” Alma gave her familiar wheezing laugh. “Here’s all there is to know about me. I’ve had three husbands and fifteen children. I killed eight injuns, four Mexican bandits, and one black horse thief. Apart from that, my life’s been quite ordinary. If I was your age again, I’d be doing just what you’re doing.”
***
Ceci bought a ticket to Tullahoma and rode the train into Tennessee. The view from the window of her railroad car was much the same as it had been on her journey from Louisiana to Richmond. Only here, the devastation was greater. Whole plantations had been burned to the ground. Fields and crops left in ashes. Entire towns destroyed. The Union presence seemed stronger, more concentrated, the further south she went. Their strangle hold on the Confederacy seemed to be tightening.
For the first time since the war began she saw Confederate prisoners, hundreds of them. Forced to march at the end of a Union bayonet, they moved dejectedly along the roads towards hastily constructed prison camps. They were disarmed, defeated and downcast, without flags or drums. It made her heart bleed.
Travel passes were checked more rigorously than before. The Union ever watchful for saboteurs and infiltrators. Ceci no longer experienced the exhilaration she’d once felt in the midst of danger. Now, there was only a cold desire to survive, and a constant need for caution.
Even though it was of considerable strategic importance, Tullahoma was still little more than an outpost. The recent heavy rains had turned its unpaved streets into a quagmire that had been churned up by the constant passage of artillery and supply wagons.
Ceci lifted her skirts and picked her way through the cloying mud, her feet sinking into it up to her ankles. There were no hotels or boarding houses here, little to suggest the presence of civilian life.
Ceci noticed that she was beginning to get glances from the passing troops. She doubted, that they suspected her of being anything other than a woman, but some of the attention didn’t seem too friendly. Occasionally, a man would look at her in that certain way, a hunger in his eyes. She pressed her hand to her thigh, reassured by the presence of Alma’s Derringer. Nevertheless, she couldn’t afford to have her mission jeopardised by something as trivial as mere lust.
Leaving, what passed for the main street, she retreated down an alleyway and out towards the edge of town, until she came to a corral and a ramshackle storehouse. She went inside and changed into the Union uniform, exchanging Alma’s Derringer for her Colt revolver. She spattered some mud from her shoes onto her uniform, to make it appear travel stained. The rest of her clothes, and everything else, she had to leave behind, she hid under some old grain sacks and settled down to wait for nightfall.
There was only one sentry guarding the corral. He propped his musket in the crook of his arm and began to roll a cigarette. He was unaware that anyone else was there until the butt of Ceci’s pistol cracked down on the back of his skull.
Everything she needed was here, compliments of the Union army. A horse, a saddle, saddlebags and canteens. Packing the saddlebags with the equipment, and the beef jerky she’d brought with her from Richmond, she filled two canteens from a nearby water cask, mounted the horse and trotted quietly int
o the darkness. After she’d put some distance between her and Tullahoma, she dug her heels into the horse’s flanks and began to gallop.
The route she took avoided the vast majority of military positions, and after two days of uneventful travel she found herself deep in the heart of Tennessee. It was the farthest south she’d been in well over a year, even the ground felt familiar. It was a fine warm night. She pitched camp on a low ridge and ate her rations cold, a fire was too risky. As she chewed the beef jerky, she gazed up into the night sky. It was full of stars, with the moon waxing half full. Then she realised that this moon and those stars shone over Louisiana and the plantation. Suddenly she felt old and tired, beyond her years, wondering what it was that drove her endlessly on. She thought of her home, Hecubah, her father and Celeste, and of Trent, and all the things that had once been. Would anything ever be the same again? She doubted it, but this much she was sure of, if she didn’t continue with her mission there would be nothing at all to go back to.
The jerky was dry. She reached for her canteen and shook it. It was empty. Taking the second one from her saddle, she slaked her thirst in one long draught. After a moment, she paused, licking her lips. There was a strange after taste. She took another sip. Now she couldn’t taste anything. She shrugged dismissively. Doubtless, it was just the flavour of the jerky mixing with the water. Thinking no more of it, she lay down, rested her head against her saddle and slept.
Dawn was barely a streak of colour on the horizon when she started from her sleep, hands clutching at her stomach, a gnawing pain eating into her. She tried to rise, sinking to her knees she bent forward and vomited uncontrollably. She felt chilled to the bone, sweat oozing from every pore. When the last of the jerky was gone, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve and reached for her saddlebags. Taking out the parcel of dried meat, she sniffed it. It was sound. She opened her canteen and inhaled. It was the water. It was tainted. It was the same water, she’d been drinking for the last two days. It had to be something in the second canteen that had fouled it.
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